


Cornelia: A Tale of Twilight - Part 1: Carlisle

by ScarletDevil1503



Series: Cornelia: A Tale of Twilight [1]
Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Canon, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Muti-Chapter, OC, POV Female Character, POV First Person, Pre-Twilight, Romance, Vampire/Human Hybrid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-19 01:57:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletDevil1503/pseuds/ScarletDevil1503
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My father was a vampire; my mother was a human. It has been quite a few centuries since I was born, so I have decided to make a record of my life... as it may not last much longer. I have seen death and love; despair and hope; tragedy and miracles. I regret little, as everything I have done has been right in my own eyes. My motivations were purposeful, and my memories are pure. My name is Cornelia."</p><p>Follow the life of a hybrid through the canon Twilight universe; from her birth in 1778 through love, loss, and friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for clicking on my story. Some things you may want to note before beginning:
> 
> 1.) I began writing this story in early 2008, before the release of Breaking Dawn, so this was my version of "hybrids." Somewhat different than Renesmee, but I have an explanation: Cornelia is a "venom-producing" female hybrid, whereas all the girls in the books are non-venomous.
> 
> 2.) The beginning, Part 1, is set during Carlisle's time with the Quileutes before he had the whole family together. I realize that the town of "Hoquiam" wasn't settled until 1890, but... this is fiction.
> 
> 3.) Most of this story is canon. I hate breaking the timeline, but you may see a little wackiness here and there. Though I haven't finished writing it yet, I plan to continue this story's timeline into the year 2010.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I do writing it!
> 
> -Scarlet
> 
> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the intellectual property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended.

*~ Part 1: Carlisle ~*

**Chapter 1: Beginnings**

_December 5, 1778_

_Boston, Massachusetts colony_

I remember my birth. I remember looking into my mother's eyes for the first and last time. I remember my father's murder of her in front of my newborn eyes. I remember crying for the first time when he held me in his cold arms. I remember him abandoning me in a snowy forest the very day of my birth.

No one bothered to grant me a name, so I took one for myself – Cornelia. I am a hybrid: the highly improbable chance of human-vampire procreation. My birth occurred on the fifth day of December, in the year 1778, in an English colony called Massachusetts. The War for Independence between Britain and her New World colonies had just begun there.

To my knowledge, my mother was an 18-year-old girl from Boston, who, in an attempt to flee the chaos that the fighting provoked, was sexually violated by a vampire. In the frenzy of the War, no one seemed to notice that the girl went missing during my time in her womb. I don't know why my father allowed my mother to give birth; this has always been a mystery to me.

As if fighting for dominance over my immortal half, my human hormones gave me a great burst of growth in my early life. Resulting, I aged much faster than human children did. The midwife who'd taken me in told me I had a terrible illness, and raised me with care and compassion for this very reason. However, there was a massive outbreak of smallpox in my hometown during that time, and my new mother soon took ill and perished.

I lost my humanity in the year 1785, when I reached human maturity at the age of seven. Vampire venom flooded my system, changing me into what I truly am. The pain stayed for hours – perhaps a full day, though the memory is not clear to me. I do know that I found refuge in a grass clearing in the forest, near dusk on a cool September evening. The weather didn't matter to me then; the fire was all-pervasive.

I have been told, since that time, that the experience was equivalent to what humans undergo during the transformation into a vampire. You see, I favor my father. When I stopped aging, my body system began producing venom. Human blood still flows through my veins, but the venom also sustains my life. It's almost as though life and death were crammed into one body. Resulting, my heartbeat slowed immensely that day. The venom made me incredibly strong – even stronger than pure-blood vampires. The change gave me incredible energy; I felt the need to sleep only once a week. My senses were also heightened, much like my strength. Due to my slowed heartbeat, my skin was slightly cooler than a human's. My flesh was half as solid as a vampire's, and it shimmered faintly in the sunlight. My speed was also not as great, favoring my mother.

As I said, life and death in one body.

I suppose I fell asleep sometime during the night on that September evening, long after the pain stopped, for it was daybreak by the time I awoke. The bright light warming my eyelids caused me to open them. What I beheld was something I'd never experienced before. Colors and lights danced before my new eyes, blinding me with their intense spectrum; hundreds of thousands of sounds buzzed in my ears, and fragrances assaulted my nose.

_What's happened to me?_

As far as I knew at the time, I'd been completely normal. Other than my rapid growth, I was completely human in appearance and abilities. I had yet to encounter any sort of supernatural elements, so the experience was strange and new to me. Nevertheless, I stood slowly to inspect the new abilities of my body. I heard the heartbeats and breathing of animals in the woods distinctly – a few squirrels, a herd of deer, and many different birds. I took a deep breath, startled by the hundreds of scents around me… fresh grass, honeyed lilacs, spicy oaks.

However, one scent stood out to me in particular. I followed the faint trail and discovered it to be a small red fox, pawing at the ground. My new instincts asserted themselves. _D_ _rink, drink, drink_. Without thought, I pounced, snapped its neck, and licked at the red liquid that dripped from the fresh wound. It tasted sweet and refreshing, and it filled every one of my senses until I could take no more. I pulled away once I'd satisfied myself, and stood over the corpse.

I suddenly came back to myself. Gasping in shock, I stepped away from the broken body and blood-stained grass. I stumbled back to the clearing, disgusted with myself. _What have I done?_ I raked my memory for guidance, and came up with a single event _..._

_My father took my mother in his arms shortly after my birth, burying his face in her neck. Her scream of pain didn't last long as her flushed cheeks slowly drained of color.  
_

I violently shook my head to dismiss the grotesque image, feeling my eyes swell with tears.

My hands were stained red, disgusting me further. I found that the front of my dress was also dyed crimson with the fox's blood. After a few moments of growing desperation, I began to follow the distinct sound of living water. A mile's walk revealed a small brook flowing through the forest. I rinsed my soiled clothes in the chilly water, occasionally drinking some to clear the taste of blood from my mouth. Though it had satisfied me immensely, the very thought was sickening. I scowled at my reflection in the water, noticing changes these as well.

My small cheekbones were more defined than before, and my lips had darkened a shade or two. Though my features in general were small, it appeared that my skin had tightened around my cheeks and jaw. My complexion was chalky as though I had been very ill. The only feature that remained the same was my light brown hair, falling to my elbows in thick, tangled clumps. My hazel eyes were clouded with a light honey color, forming around my pupils in golden flecks. I wondered how the color got there, and if it would eventually overtake my entire irises.

Before I could ponder my eye color any longer, my sensitive nose picked up a strange scent. I was hesitant to follow it... I didn't want to attack anything again. The scent led me back to the clearing where I had lain in misery for those days. I stopped just inside tree line and observed three figures looming about in the bright grass. Sun reflected off their pale skin as though it was glass, sending rays of light glimmering throughout the clearing. A gasp escaped me, and three pairs of crimson eyes flashed to my hiding place. My instincts screamed for me to flee as those eyes faded to a bottomless black.

Their advance was faster than anything I'd ever seen before, quickly limiting my escape routes to zero. "What _are_ you?" I said as I stumbled back, breathless with sudden fear. They circled me as if I were an animal, their menacing snarls inhuman and terrifying. I looked to each one helplessly as two of the three crouched as if to spring.

My instincts guided me into a defensive stance, and I was surprised by a faint growl rumbling in my chest. _I'm just as much an animal as they are._ Then, the third one sprang at me. My hands rose reflexively to block the attack as a scream built in my throat. Instead of feeling the impact that I expected, I felt a cool tingle on the palms of my hands, and heard a whooshing sound... then what sounded like a large rock falling the ground.

When I looked up, I saw a light mist in front and above me, then, slowly, as I gazed about myself, it formed all around me. The man who had attacked me was now on the ground, which accounted for the loud thud, looking rather confused. The two others slowly approached the mist. I put my hands down and once again stood defensively. As I did so, the mist disappeared and the two men stumbled forward as if they had been... leaning on it?

The third suddenly sprang at me again, weighing me easily to the ground with his knees on my shoulders. I quickly found that my strength overpowered his, so I pushed him away with one, mighty heave. I scrambled to my feet as he regained his footing, but I was suddenly detained by the other two, who grabbed me roughly by the arms. I struggled to free myself to no avail – I stood no chance against their doubled power.

A frightened shout left my lips as the third returned, standing close enough that I could smell him. His scent was sweet and spicy. Towering above my small stature, he curled his icy fingers behind my neck, sending a wave of awareness through my body. He whispered a single word in a strange language, and leaned his face towards mine as if to kiss me. I soon discovered that his actual target was my neck...

The sound of swift feet on the forest floor alerted me to several new presences approaching. The man strafed back from me and sniffed the air, scowling. The howl of a wolf split through the cool morning air, rising every hair on my head. The two others dropped my arms and stepped away, panic flashing through their eyes just before they bolted through the trees. I sniffed the air; the scent of cherry wood and earth grew nearer as the howls grew louder. I stumbled back from my one remaining attacker, looking eagerly in every direction. _What horrible thing could possibly make those creatures run? Should I be scared, too?_

My attacker was suddenly swept away by a flash of brown fur. I whimpered in fear, vaguely recognizing the beast as a large bear. Growls and yaps filled the trees around me, and I realized that I was surrounded by the beasts. Cherry wood and earth. My knees trembled weakly as I forced myself to remain standing. When one of the beasts turned its head in my direction, I discovered it was not a bear, but...

"A wolf..." My voice spoke the truth, but my eyes simply wouldn't believe it. The giant brown wolf clamped its jaws around the man's shoulder, and a deafening screech filled my ears as it ripped the man's torso in half. Think, dark blood sprayed across the sunlit grass. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the horrific scene, so I clutched my ears tightly; my head felt as though it would explode. A black wolf trotted toward the carnage, its teeth barred as it growled ferociously.

As the tears, growls, and yells continued, I felt my terror build up inside me, threatening to conquer me. _Stop!_ I sunk to the ground and covered my head with my arms, clenching my teeth together and squeezing my eyes shut. _Please, stop!_

After one last blood-curdling howl, silence descended over the forest.

I held my breath as I heard the heavy paws approaching me, hoping that I would somehow disappear. My heart mercilessly pounded the inside of my ribcage, echoing in my ears like a drum. _It_ _'s over as soon as it began,_ my mind screamed, _I'm going to die now!_

 


	2. Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cornelia discovers more about the world and herself.

 

  
**Chapter 2: Nature**   
  
_1785_   
  
_Somewhere in New England_

A warm hand nudged my shoulder.

"Go away!" I shouted shakily, my voice quivering as I curled in on myself further.

"I… mean no harm."

Finally, something I understood. I relaxed a tiny bit, and cracked an eye to see the man who stood over me. His brown eyes looked at me worriedly, and his brow furrowed. I slowly came out of my ball, and scotched away from the man, using my hands. His skin was much darker than I was used to, and he wore no shirt or shoes, which I had never before seen on a man. He scared me greatly.

Even my own voice startled me, "Who… who are you?" I held my knees tightly to my chest and stared up at him. He sat down slowly, crossing his legs on the grass.

"My name is Lakota," he said, and a strange accent was strung in his words. "What is yours?"

I swallowed thickly, not too inclined to be friendly. "C-C-Cornelia."

Suddenly, another man appeared from the trees. He had a similar appearance to Lakota, but had longer black hair and wore a frayed shirt of some kind. He wasn't as tall and imposing, either. He began speaking in a foreign language, and I felt myself becoming afraid again. I had heard of Indians before, but no good things. They were enemies, _savages_. Who knew what they wanted with me?

Lakota put out his hand to silence his companion, not taking his eyes from me. "Where do you come from, Cornelia?" he asked, simply continuing our exchange.

"Uh… um," I stuttered, my entire body quivering with nerves. I wasn't much the conversationalist. "I-I hail from Boston, but…" I paused, relaxing slightly under his friendly gaze. "Can you tell me what's happening to me?" I asked him, my voice trembling.

He smiled, beckoning to the other man. "I must tell you a story…"

He went on to explain about the world I'd stumbled across. _They…_ were destined to always be inherent enemies, and they had been since before time. I listened, with much difficulty, as he told me that he was a "guardian," a "protector" of humankind.

He was a werewolf.

*~*~*~*

Something began that day which took me several years to understand. I call it the "vampire magnet." The mixture of my human blood and vampire venom in my body created a pheromone-type effect, which attracted vampires. Once a vampire caught wind of my scent, they became crazed, feral – consumed by uncontrollable bloodlust. Which, as you may imagine, made it very hard to survive.

However, this allowed me to become a natural friend to the werewolves of the Native North Americans. They protected me from _them_ … yet, what did I do for them? This question haunted me with every death on my account.

My blood wasn't the only unique thing about me. The vampire gene I inherited from my father gave me a special ability. I have the power create any sized barrier, which appears in the form of a haze, or mist. They are impenetrable, indestructible shields. I've never been able to create a shield without the use of my hands to trace where it would go, which is the only limit to my gift. It's is a strictly physical power, though there is an element of intellectual will.

Years passed, and I stayed with Lakota's tribe for one decade. I leaned that he was the leader of a "pack" of werewolves, and the other man, Quee, was his second-in-command. They taught me the art of combat, so I could help them fight and defend. _So_ many vampires came in those first few years, and other young warriors of the tribe changed into werewolves. I couldn't stand all the trouble I caused them - fighting, death, war.

I remember the very last thing Lakota said to me. He had made me a gift - a parting gift of sorts - and, as he gave it to me, he said, "Survive, Cornelia; that's all that matters." It was a foot-long dagger made of unpolished silver, with a carving of a baying wolf on the hilt.

And, with that, I moved on. Not soon after, I was being so savagely hunted by vampires, I was forced to find haven with another tribe of werewolves. I found that not all Native Americans inherited the wolf gene, and it was very uncommon that I found a pack of werewolves. So, I simply tried to avoid _them_ as best possible. I was constantly on the run; I hated this weary existence, but the vampires never failed to come. Sometimes one or two, or sometimes a whole group, what they called a "coven."

Soon, in the course of human events, the British got fed up with American freedom and decided to come start the War of 1812. After a year of the bloody conflict, I decided to travel West. Having never been out of New England, I was quite excited. In my excitement, I accidentally ran all the way to the Pacific Ocean.

The ocean air was crisp and clear, surprisingly warm for the late month. I sighed and looked out over the peaceful waters. The sun set in the west, casting it's shimmering light over the waves. I don't know how long I stood there, over the ocean, because my mind wandered far away.

*~*~*~*

" _What is your name?" the woman asked, staring sternly over the half-moon rim of her spectacles. A line was perpetually between her eyebrows, and her lips were curled in a frown. However, my mother had told me to listen to everything she said… or else._

_"Um..."_

_Truthfully, I didn't know my name. Did I have a name? Martha, my mother, called me "Pigeon." But… that is the name of a foul, is it not? Joshua, the boy who lived down the road, called me "Girl." That is my gender, right? So, what was my name, truly?_

_The only sound in the one-room schoolhouse was the chipper crackling of the furnace in the corner, which Teacher had kindled far before we students had arrived. Martha had sent me here to this tiny establishment of learning because she had too, in accordance with the Ole' Deluder Satan Act._

_Even though it was mid-winter and our young nation was fighting for independence from the Motherland, the children of rural Boston were required to learn how to read. Martha had already taught me from her copy of King James's Holy Bible, but again, she had felt the need to send me here. The girls sat in the five rows of seats to the left, and the boys sat on the right. We were arranged by age: youngest to oldest, front to back. We each had our Hornbooks set on the desks in front of us, with our ABC's and our Lord's Prayers printed and mounted on the wooden faces. My copy of the_ New England Primmer _was fairly new – used before me only eight times – since I was a new arrival._

_However, none of this was of any note to me. Teacher had realized her lack of knowledge of my name when she'd handed me a paper and told me to read it. I guessed she hadn't noticed me slip into her classroom at the beginning of the lesson. I couldn't very well say that my name was "Pigeon Girl."_

_"Girl? Your name?" Teacher pressed impatiently._

_The bigger girl in the seat behind me, who had already told Teacher that her name was Elizabeth, giggled. The smaller girl in front of me, who appeared around four years of age, looked back at me with big, brown eyes. The boys across the aisle whispered to each other._

_Thinking quickly, I looked down at the parchment perched in my small hands. It appeared to be a list of births in America for that year, listed alphabetically. "Cornelia Lott Green" caught my eye because it was the longest._

_"Greene," I quoth._

_There was chortling from the boys side, and several older girls gasped. The girl in front of me flinched_ _when Teacher wrapped her knuckles with her meter stick,_ _and she whirled back around in her seat._

_"Dear child," Teacher said icily. "That is most definitely your surname. I only wish for your first. What do they call you?"_

_I forced myself to look that scary woman right in those cold, blue eyes of hers, and stood as tall as my 2-year-old body could possibly stand. "Cornelia," I said._

" _My name is Cornelia."_

*~*~*~*

Sometime later, I heard a werewolf transform into human form about a mile away. I didn't turn; I was tired of introducing myself. Fast steps pounded the ground until they came close, and slowed.

"You have… human blood," a deep voice said from behind.

It wasn't a question.

I nodded anyway and turned around to see a nearly seven-foot-tall Indian, who smiled brightly. I couldn't help but smile too, as a nice cloud of reassurance came over me at merely his presence.

"I am Titus Black of the Quileute tribe."

I took his outreached hand in a good shake. His clothing was that of a chief. "Cornelia." He might have made me smile, but I was in no mood to talk.

"We have peace with the Colds Ones in this area."

My eyebrows when together in confusion.

"Golden eyes," he added, motioning to his own.

That did nothing to enlighten me on the matter of "peaceful vampires", but I nodded anyway. _They won't be very peaceful soon._ "Where am I?" I asked suddenly.

"This is Oregon Country," he replied brightly. I'd certainly heard of it; many pioneers from the East had come there long ago. "Quileute land lies _far_ north of here. You are welcome." He then motioned to the south. "The white settlement of Hoquiam very near, southeast."

"Thank you," I said, turning back to the sea. The sun was merely a shrinking halo of light as it dove into the sea. The man gazed with me for a few minutes.

"We will be watching."

I felt a warm hand on my shoulder, then heard him phase as he ran into the nearby woods. Going north; going home.

My heart was seized with remorse. _I have no home._

 


	3. The Storm and the Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cornelia encounters a peculiar vampire, and a harmful falsehood is born.

 

**Chapter 3: The Storm and the Stranger**  
  
 _October 21_ _,_ _1813, Sunset  
  
Hoquiam, Oregon Country_

The light faded from the sky as I made my way south. Human scents became closer with each step I took. I hadn't walked among humans for many years, and I feared how I may fare. Another thing that was worrying me was the "peaceful vampires" that the chef had spoken of. Did the Quileutes have some armistice with them? Did they allow them to hunt of their land?

_That would be dreadful._

I felt a drop of rain on the back of my hand just as I saw the first buildings of a town. From half a mile away, I read the sign clearly: "Hoquiam Tack and Bridle." The dark clouds in the sky made the sunset much darker than ordinary, and I saw no humans outside of their homes as I walked into town. Few lights shone through the buildings of shops and residences, and I looked up at the high steeple of a church as I passed.

I soon walked out of the other end of town. I wasn't used to such a small society of humans, having lived in cities like Boston and Charlestown, but I guessed that that was how humans functioned in the West. _Or it's because the Quileutes let them all die._ I shuttered as the rain became heavier, and it soon doused me thoroughly.

Halfway back to the main road, I was shivering and wet. The rain splashed in the muddy street as I walked by the church again. My worn leather lace-ups were filled with water, making squishing sounds with each step I took. My purple dress of many days was soaked and torn, and now had a distinctly brown appearance. My long hair had half-fallen out of its braid, and was plastered to my forehead and cheeks.

A cold wind had picked up with the rain, and it bit and stung at every exposed inch of my skin. The pine trees around town groaned with the harsh breeze, and offered little shelter from the abusive weather. _Why have I come here in the first place?_ I mistook my tears for rain. Thunder clapped in the near distance.

Suddenly, I spied a figure walking along the opposite side of the street, very far away. I found it odd that anyone would be out during such weather. The figure's head was bowed under a large, black umbrella, and I recognized the shape of a tall man. Then, a scent penetrated the rain, and my back went rigid.

The man was a vampire, and he was walking in my direction.

Before I could act, the man looked up, as though first noticing me as well. Raindrops blurred my vision, so I put up a hand to shield my eyes. What I saw was not what I expected.

He wore a formal black suit with a white shirt and a loose black necktie underneath, and carried a black leather bag at his side. This attire gave him a very human appearance, and it startled me. We stared at each other, unmoving, until I was forced to blink.

Then, not breaking my gaze, the stranger stepped forward. I stepped back… naturally. His brow furrowed as though he was deciphering something.

He stepped forward again, this time a bit more cautiously, and slowly crossed the street. He raised his voice against the howling wind, and I heard every pitch of his musical speech, "Hello?"

I thought it was strange that an Englishman be so far from his home, but that wasn't what worried me. The man had astonished me by closing the distance between us completely, and sharing his oversized umbrella.

I was paralyzed from either the cold or from fright. Granted, my feet had become quite sunken in mud as I had stood there, but that was not an appropriate excuse for my action. I _stayed_. I stayed and stared up at that six-foot vampire like a small child staring at Saint Nickolas. I was about to become a warm meal for him, yet I stayed.

His expression turned to that of concern when I didn't speak. "Are you well, Miss?"

That's when I noticed it. Maybe I had been looking at his mouth before, or perhaps at his fair blond hair. But the moment I saw his eyes, I almost tripped in the mud when I stepped back in shock. "Y-Y-Your eyes!" I exclaimed, pointing between his nose.

He looked more surprised than I. His mouth opened to say something, and then closed. He frowned down at me as I gaped up at him. "Forgive me," he said, ignoring my accusation. "I am Carlisle Cullen."

He held out his hand, and my eyes darted from it to his face. _He'll kill me for sure._ Instead of taking his hand, I took another step back. "Er, Cornelia," I said.

He put his hand down after a moment. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He spoke louder than the rain that thudded on the umbrella and the wind that blew my shirts. "May I ask what keeps you so in the rain, Miss Cornelia?"

I shook my head. I didn't want him to know any vulnerabilities. Like how I didn't know where to run if he…

"Well, I suggest you get indoors before you catch cold."

I balked. _Why is he worried about my_ health _?_ I felt compelled to put his concern at ease, so I spoke. "Thank you, but I never take ill." Even though my life was at imminent risk, I didn't forget my manners.

He looked perplexed, as though I had told him I ate tree fungus for dinner. His brow furrowed once again, and he shifted his feet. "Might I at least offer you some shelter for this evening? This weather is good for nothing."

 _He's trying to lure me away from human sight. He'll kill me with no witnesses._ "No, Mister Cullen. I must decline."

He nodded, as though he'd expected the answer. "Allow me to point the way to the nearest inn." He motioned to the building next to "Hoquiam Tack and Bridle." I saw faint candlelight in the downstairs, and several windows indicated a spacious second level. "I must encourage you to seek rest there."

He confused me – now he was sending me away. I would gladly run. "Th-Thank you! I-It was a pleasure," I stammered, stepping away.

I felt the man's eyes on my back as I sped off in the direction he pointed out. I broke into a run when I reached the main street. I was free.

The sign above the door said "The Featherbed." I pushed open the thick wooden door, and was grateful for the rush of warm air that greeted me. I closed the door behind myself quietly and quickly took in my surroundings.

A human sat behind a low counter at the far side of the room, with his chin resting in his hand. He looked middle-aged, unshaven, and half asleep. There was a large, open space to the right of the counter with several tables and chairs. A fireplace crackled from the corner. To the left was a small stairway to the second level. I then heard a soft snore, and realized that the man _was_ sleeping, with his eyes half open. The floorboards creaked as I made my way to the human at the counter.

I cleared my throat, but he didn't stir. "Um… excuse me?"

The man made a coughing sound in his throat, and opened his eyes fully. He acted as though he had been awake all the time, and I got the impression that he practiced the trick often. "Ahem, yes, can I help you?" His voice was gruff from sleep.

"Er, uh, yes. I'd like an overnight room," I said.

The man smelt foul; he had either rolled in a pig sty or ate rotten potatoes. He grunted some incoherent reply and motioned to the staircase. The only words I caught were "twenty cents."

I bit the inside of my lip. I had forgotten about money. "Um, oh. I-I don't have enough," I stuttered.

The man shrugged, and leaned forward on the desk. His rancid breath was like smelling burnt garlic. "No fare, no room."

My spirit dropped. I had usually been able to convince people to give me what I wanted, but this man was downright uncivilized. Yet, I had to try. "Sir," I began, " _please_. I can work off the charge tomorrow, sir… I-I can cook and clean, and I've even –!"

His bloodshot, brown eyes were more aware than they had been all night. He leaned forward again. "I-could get my-boss for you if you'd-like-maybe he'd work something-out for-you-love." His words slurred together, and I now recognized the scent on his breath. Alcohol.

I nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, yes, please do."

And then he hobbled around the counter, and entered a doorway I hadn't noticed under the stairs.

I stayed where I was the entire ten minutes he was gone, during which I heard him open the string bottle he had on his ankle and take a drink. Then, I heard him knock loudly on a door, and another human stood and answered it.

"Yes?" It was a man's voice, undeterred by sleep.

"Mister Wells… sir… there's a girl here, and she cannot pay…"

"Peace, Martin. I'll see her."

"Yes, sir… of course, sir…"

The smelly man didn't come back out, but the new man did. He had a kind face, well shaven and clean for a change. He had deep blue eyes and thick black hair, and he had to duck through the doorway to enter the room. He appeared several years younger than the other man. He was surprised when he saw me, and he appeared concerned as he walked over. "Miss," he said, holding out a hand, "I am Caleb Wells."

I didn't feel keen to shake his hand, so I simply brushed my fingers with his. "C-Cornelia."

"Martin tells me that you cannot meet the fee for the night," he said, somewhat sympathetically.

"Please, sir. I just seek shelter from the storm and I am fully willing to work for the fee. Perhaps in the kitchen, or in –"

"Miss, I haven't the mind to make a slave of you…" He laughed heartily, and I blinked. "We shall speak of compensation in the morning. Now, let's see…" He walked behind the counter and dug around in the shelf under it.

"Oh my," I said, wringing my fingers. "I couldn't possibly accept…"

He stopped suddenly, and looked at me closely. "You haven't been here long. Where is your family? Your parents?"

His perception startled me. I wasn't usually associated with my apparent age, but this man was more observant than the others. "Well, I… I've come from Boston to stay with my… my uncle."

This response seemed to relieve him. "Sorry to intrude, Miss Cornelia, but you seemed very young to be offering yourself for work."

I could only nod and smile, somewhat sheepishly. He returned the smile. Then, he found what he was looking for and motioned to the stairs. "Let me show you to your room."

I followed him up the stairs and into a long hallway of doors. "I cannot thank you enough, sir."

"Worry not," Mister Wells said. Then, after a moment, he stopped in front of the last door on the right and faced me. "Would I be familiar with your uncle?" he asked suddenly. "It is a small town and I know most everyone."

I froze. I hadn't expected him to be so curious. _People in the West must be very different from the East._ I tried to imagine something that wouldn't sound ludicrous. Obviously the shrewd man would see through any pale lies. My mind flashed to the tawny-eyed man on the street. "Er… Carlisle Cullen?" I resisted the urge to clap my hand over my loose tongue. _What have I done?_

His eyebrows nearly met his dark hairline. "The _doctor_?" Then, as if catching himself from rudeness, "I… wasn't aware that Doctor Cullen had any family." He looked troubled.

"Yes… well, yes, he is my mother's brother, who passed away. I'm not surprised that he doesn't favor speaking of it." My lie was unfolding so naturally… so harmfully.

"Oh, I see. Forgive me for inquiring after it," he apologized.

"Think nothing of it. My mother died long ago." _Very long ago…_

"I bid you goodnight, then, Miss." He held out a key for me to take, and bowed.

I took the key, and said goodnight.

After I'd heard Mister Wells' footsteps return to the room under the stairs, I put the key in the lockbox of the door and turned. I closed the door behind myself quickly and turned the lock again. The room was small, but very comfortable. A red glowing fire burnt low in the hearth, and a candle flickered upon the table to the right. A small bed was shoved into the left corner, and had several quilts upon it. Beside the bed on the left wall was a small wooden wardrobe, which was empty. Two apples, half a loaf of bread, a pitcher of water, and three cups sat on the table.

I immediately sprang for the food and tore a piece off the bread. I had hunted elk the previous day, but my travels had thoroughly exhausted me. After finishing the bread and half of the water, I took off my shoes and set them by the hearth to dry. I laid my dress out to dry as well, and sat by the fire until my underclothes were only damp on my skin. I set my only possession, Lakota's silver dagger, on a shelf in the wardrobe. I wrapped myself in many warm blankets, laid on the soft mattress, and fell into a very deep sleep.

 


	4. Hoquiam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cornelia ventures out into the town of Hoquiam and builds a mysterious reputation among its residents.

**Chapter 4: Hoquiam**

_October 22, 1813, 7:11 a.m._

_Hoquiam, Oregon Country_

The sun woke me. I hadn't noticed the window over the bed the night before, and now the dark sky had brightened with sunshine. Gray clouds were still out; it looked as though it had rained all night.

I turned onto my back stiffly. I hadn't slept long enough, because I didn't feel comfortable in the strange place. Finally, rising ten minutes later, I finished most of the water in the pitcher and ate one of the apples. I shivered in the cold morning air; the fire had gone out during the night. My dress and shoes were dry, and I used the rest of the water to rinse my face after I'd gotten dressed.

I heard voices from downstairs when I stepped out into the hallway. As I cautiously descended, I saw two other guests had been up already, and were enjoying a meal at one of the tables. A new face was behind the counter, and the young lady smiled broadly when she saw me.

"Good morning! Mister Wells told me that you had arrived last evening."

I smiled. "Yes, just last evening."

She walked over to me and took one of my hands in hers. "Oh, dear! You're chilled through! Let me get you something warm to drink," she said, pulling me over to the closest table.

I sat on the wooden chair, entertained by her hospitality. Her round cheeks were flushed and her blue eyes were bright. She wore a simple brown dress with a faded brown apron, and half of her dark brown hair was covered with a dark blue cloth. Her subtle beauty and stout figure were charming. "W-Why, thank you."

"Not at all, dear, not at all! Serving is what I like best." Producing a bowl from behind the counter, she rushed to the fireplace in the corner, and filled the bowl with some hot liquid from a pot that hung there. She then set the steaming bowl on the plate in front of me, and I noticed a spoon a fork off to the side.

It appeared as though my white lie from the previous night had spread to other ears.

"You're too kind. Thank you so much." I looked up at the woman gratefully.

"You're very welcome, dear. I'm Martha, by the way. Martha Brown."

I then understood why I had taken to the woman so quickly. The woman who had "adopted" me in after I was born; the woman who taught me the meaning of life - her name had been Martha, and she'd had blue eyes. The Boston smallpox in 1780 had separated us forever. I swallowed thickly. "My name's Cornelia," I said to Martha.

"Good to meet you, Miss Cornelia." She was distracted by another guest arriving downstairs. Enjoy your meal!"

I took the spoon from the table and dipped it in the bowl. I blew the steam off the liquid and put it too my lips. It was chicken broth.

"You're a new face around here, aren't you?"

I looked up at the person who had spoken. The two men at the table across from mine were looking at me curiously. The elder man with grey hair had spoken. "Um, yes. I just arrived last evening."

"So they tell me...," the man remarked.

I felt embarrassed that they already knew so much about me. A _lie_ about me, granted, but something nonetheless. "Do you live here in Hoquiam, sir?" I asked, wanting to level the conversation.

"Naw," he drawled. "I'm a fisherman up in Port Angelis. The name's George. I'm in town for s'pplies."

"I'm Cornelia," I said, tipping my head in greeting.

"This here's Jonathan, my accomplice." The old man laughed roughly and smacked the other man on the shoulder.

The second man nodded to me; he was younger than George but they looked similar in appearance. "It's a pleasure, Miss. Don't let my brother scare you away." He smiled good-naturedly.

George tore off into another fit of laughter.

I couldn't help but chuckle. "I haven't heard of Port Angelis... is it north of here?"

Jonathan spoke for his brother this time. "It's just a small fishing village; I'm not surprised you haven't heard of it."

I nodded in acknowledgement and took another sip of my broth. The guest that Martha had greeted walked by to sit at the farthest table by the fire. It was a young man in a black robe.

"Mornin', Father," George said, grinning. It was disrespectful to address a cleric in such a manner, but I simply explained it as another strange thing people in the West did.

"Good morning to you, Mister George. I trust your evening was peaceful?" His voice was monotone, and he only glanced up long enough to nod.

"As peaceful as a church on Sund'y night," he said factually, and then started laughing away.

The Father's face was stoic.

I finished my broth quickly; the young man made me nervous.

"Miss Brown?" I caught her on my way out.

She stood from her work behind the counter and smiled. "Please - just Martha."

"Martha," I amended. "Do you know when I may speak with Mister Wells?" I had already determined that he was not in the building.

"He's gone to the next town for something, but I'm sure he'll be back by nightfall, Miss."

I nodded. "Thank you."

The morning was crisp and damp. The thin cloud cover overhead shielded the world from the sunbeams of light. Few townspeople walked the streets, and a horse-pulled wagon was pulled up to the building across the street. The words "Hoquiam General Store" was written on the front, and a large window showed its variety of merchandise inside. Men were unloading supplies from the wagon and carrying them inside.

The devastation of the storm could be seen everywhere - branches and leaves were scattered throughout town. Several men were helping clear a large limb off the church lawn as I walked by.

As I walked, I thought what I could do with myself there. _It now seems awfully silly of me to be here._ I had come on a whim, and a whim can only take you so far. Then, it struck me. I didn't have to work for Mister Wells to pay my debt; I could find employment _anywhere_ in town.

I briskly jogged back to the General Store.

There was a tall woman in a purple dress speaking to the merchant behind the counter when I entered. Most the merchandise was stacked in the ceiling-to-floor shelves behind the counter, and whatever wasn't on the shelves was in barrels or sacks. Some jars of candy were lined up on a table to the left of the door, and a large crates were stacked up to the right with labels such as "sugar" and "barley."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll place the order immediately."

"Thank you, John. That's all I need today."

"Very good. A fine day to you."

The lady in purple eyed me curiously as she turned and walked out the door. I stepped up to the counter. "Hello," I said.

The brown-eyed, brown-haired man looked surprised when he saw me. "Well, hello! What can I help you with, little lady?"

"Well... actually, I was wondering if I could help _you_. Are you looking to hire, sir?"

He smiled when he heard this. "I've been considering hiring some part-time aid for a while now, in fact." He paused. "But aren't you a little... young to be looking for such a thing, Miss?"

"Um..." _Why are humans so inquisitive in the West?_ "I've just arrived here from Boston, so I have very little. It would help me greatly if I could earn a small salary."

His eyes lit in comprehension, but he still didn't look very convinced. "All right, then. You can start helping me here for a small bit of cash, and maybe it'll be profitable for the both of us as we move along." He smiled wide and stuck his hand out to me over the counter space. "I go by the name 'John Stockton' here in town, Miss."

"I'm Cornelia," I said, taking his hand in a light shake. "Thank you very much, Mister Stockton."

"Have you a place to stay in Hoquiam, Miss Cornelia? Do you have family here?"

I briefly considered how I should respond. It was apparent that this man had not heard my lie yet, but if I told another story to him then people would begin to question. I had already made a claim, and I'd better stick to it. "I've come to live with my uncle," I said vaguely.

His next question was natural. "What's his name? I probably know him."

I took a deep breath and said, "Carlisle Cullen."

His reaction was similar to Mister Wells'. "Doctor Cullen? Who would have thought that man had... family!" He laughed, and then quickly turned it into a couch. "Yes, well... when would you like to start?"

I smiled. "As soon as possible."

Very shortly, I was stocking shelves with new supplies and dusting windowsills. Mister Stockton helped the frequent patrons that passed the threshold, and I worked behind the scenes to make their shopping experience a good one. However, I heard customers murmur about me behind my back; even Mister Stockton gossiped about my supposed uncle. My heart sank deeper and deeper with each whisper. _How will I get out of that situation?_

Nevertheless, I enjoyed my work so well that I was surprised when Mister Stockton informed me that it was lunchtime. He told me I'd worked enough for that day, and gave me my first pay: fifty cents. He said that I could return the next day for more work. I lost count of how many times I thanked him.

With five shiny dimes clenched in my hand, I felt on top of the world as I walked back out into Hoquiam. It was enough to pay my fee at The Featherbed and to buy some new clothes. I put two dimes in my pocket to pay Mister Wells when he returned that evening, and walked down the main street of town.

There was a tavern directly across from The Featherbed, called simply "Hoquiam Tavern." I pictured a much less refined version of the inn I had chosen. A glassblowing shop was next to the General Store, and a bookstore stood at the end of the buildings on the right. A Post Office stood all alone at the end of the street, and two men were arguing over a newspaper headline on the porch. The last building on the left was my destination: "Hoquiam Tailor Shop."

The shop was much more spacious than the General Store, and there were more windows that let light in. Glass-paned cabinets along the western wall held yarns and thread of all colors. On the opposite wall was scores and scores of materials. There were solids, florals, and tartans of all varieties in rolls along the wall. Along the back wall was a long wrack of pre-made clothes. A thin lady in an apron sat in the far left corner on a stool, sticking and pulling a needle through a piece of blue cloth. A middle-aged man with red hair stood spoke with a young lady by the material rolls. The whole room smelt of fresh flax and cotton, and the bright colors and lighting was very appealing.

When I stepped further into the room, the woman on the stool looked up at me. She smiled as she walked over to me. "Welcome, dear. I don't think we've had the pleasure -?" Her misty voice complimented her willowy frame, and her wide blue eyes were curious as she awaited my introduction.

"Cornelia, ma'am. I'm new in town."

"Millicent Weaver, Miss Cornelia. But don't let the name fool you - I'm the town's seamstress." She giggled at her own little joke and embraced me lightly around the shoulders.

I tried to relax around her motherly manner. "It's good to meet you, Miss Weaver."

"But, dear, where's your mother?" She stepped back and looked behind me, as though to find something there.

"She... passed away while I was living in Boston. I've come here to live with my uncle." The lie was so easy now; I was beginning to believe it myself.

Empathy erupted in her kind eyes and I felt as though I'd just told her that _her_ mother died. "My God, how terrible that must be for you... I apologize for -"

I put up a hand to stop her. "No need. It happened long ago when I was very young."

But she was still close to tears.

Wanting to change the subject away from myself, I smiled and said, "I'm looking for a new dress."

Seeing my discomfort, she immediately brightened. "Is that so? You've come to the right place, Miss."

She led me to the back of the store and showed me the variety of dresses they had in my size. After taking my eye color and complexion into consideration, she declared that the royal blue muslin dress and overcoat suited me best. I consented easily... until I looked at the price tag. I tried not to gawk at the two-dollar tag and insisted that something warmer would do with the cooling weather. However, even the simple, forest green cotton dress was seventy-five cents.

Deeply concerned (yet subtly unnoticing) about my financial situation, Millicent led me to the raw material section. I found the very same gingham green, cotton material, and determined that twelve cents worth of the fabric would be enough for an ankle-length dress and a hair covering. Another eight cents of a matching solid green material would make a fine smock. I paid four more cents for a needle, thread, and scissors, and thanked Millicent for her time.

I took my purchases and my remaining six cents back to my room at The Featherbed, and found that Mister Wells had returned early. He treated me to an afternoon lunch, and we discussed my situation over a steaming bowl of Martha's fresh vegetable soup. I produced the two dimes from my pocket, and Mister Wells looked impressed.

"Mister Stockton at the General Store has taken me on part-time," I informed him.

He nodded. "John has been wanting an employee for a while. I'm happy that you've occupied yourself here so quickly."

I smiled. "I can't thank Mister Stockton enough."

As we talked, I leaned that he had inherited the inn from his grandfather who had passed away. Much like myself, he had moved to Hoquiam away from his family to manage the business.

"You've no family here, Mister Wells?" I asked.

"Only my sister - Martha."

"Martha is your sister -!" I was surprised; save their eyes, they looked little alike.

"Yes," he said, smiling at my disbelief. "She married Shamus Brown shortly after we moved here. You may have met him at the tailor's. He's worked there for years, and they live together in the apartment above the shop."

I remembered the red-haired man I'd seen at the Tailor Shop, and nodded.

In the end, Mister Wells and I came to a financial arrangement. He would charge me half-price (a very generous ten cents) until I could find permanent arrangements in town. I could feel his curiosity as to why I didn't simply stay with my "uncle," but he was too polite to inquire after the topic. I didn't understand his boundless generosity, but thanked him endlessly anyway.

I returned to my ten-cent room and began work on my new outfit. While I had been out, Martha had rekindled my hearth and refilled my pitcher with clean water. I dragged a chair from the table to sit by the fire, and laid my supplies out of the bed. I had photographically memorized the pattern that Millicent had showed me, so I made cuts here and there on the material to begin. I sewed as quickly as my super-human dexterity allowed, yet I had only finished half of the dress after two full hours.

Wanting to stretch my stiff legs, I went back outside for a stroll in town. More clouds had gathered on the horizons, and I smelt that rain was soon to come. I walked by the main street shops, the church, and the doctor's office to reach the small human neighborhood on the far side of town. Most of the homes were two-story duplexes, but some privately owned homes were larger.

For the first time, I noticed a small trade shack beyond the houses. Several wagons were waiting to pick up supplies for trade, and several were unloading purchased supplies. I spoke with the employee that managed the stables, and discovered that Hoquiam was a major lumber hub in the North. Traders from as south as Nevada came to buy their cuts, and they even bartered with some French-speaking Canadians. There were several lumber camps and mills surrounding Hoquiam for many miles.

On my way back to The Featherbed, I caught a scent that I wasn't expecting. Werewolf.

I tracked it to the building across the street from my inn - the tavern.

Forcing myself through the swinging wooden doors, I was met with the putrid smell of alcohol and smoke. There was laughing and yelling all around the two story, open room. There were two gentlemen at the bar, competing on who could drink more before passing out. The third man had already passed out at his stool. Tables and chairs filled ever available space in the room, and many groups of men were playing cards or dice games at them. However, a space had been cleared in the center of the room (tables had obviously been pushed aside, adding to the clutter) where a group of men stood in a circle. The other patrons seemed not to notice them, and the bartender was watching nervously, looking pretty helpless.

A boy, appearing about fifteen or sixteen years of age, stood in the center of the circle of men. His dark skin and brown hair gave away his heritage easily. Apparently, the six white men had some sort of quarrel with the boy. The latter, sensing my presence, looked behind himself at me. His expression blanked, and he opened his mouth to say something...

Then, as he was distracted, the man nearest him swung his fist at him. The human's knuckles cracked against the boy's jaw, no doubt fracturing in several places. The boy stepped back in surprise, and put up his hands in surrender. The man clutched his fist and howled in pain.

"Son of a bitch!" another man yelled, staring at the boy.

"S-S-Sorry!" the boy stuttered, stepping away and waving his hands.

He bumped into a third man, and he grabbed the boy by the collar and shoved him down to his knees. "What the hell is wrong with you, Black?" the human yelled.

_Black. Titus Black. His son, perhaps?_ "Stop that!" I shouted.

Nearly every eye in the bar turned to me. The men in the group laughed, and my knees all but buckled by the smell alone.

The man who held Black eyed me with his bloodshot eyes, and a smile creased the sweaty, unshaven skin of his face. Tobacco smacked in his mouth as he spoke, "Who says, little girl?"

I squared my shoulders with what dignity I had. "Let that boy go, sir. What you're doing is wrong."

Another ripple of laughter went through the crowd, and some men at the tables looked up from their cards. The man with the tobacco seemed to be the ringleader. "I just have a small dispute to settle with young Ephraim here," he drawled, smirking.

The boy was struggling to keep his composure as he was held down, and I became worried. I'd known young wolves to be dangerous; Lakota had never let me near his sons when they first transformed. But I was unsure... _Perhaps wolves in the West are different, as well?_

My hands began to shake at my sides. "Sir, let him go. You don't know what -"

Suddenly, the boy gave a terrible cry, and within half a second, he was out of the door. All the humans present were startled; it must have looked like he simply disappeared. Without ado, I quickly left the bar while the humans were distracted.

Outside, the boy had already made it halfway down the main street. _At least he remembered to run like a human._ I tore off after him, and caught up as quickly as I could. He was already behind the Post Office when I reached him.

"You there!" I shouted, slowing my steps.

He had already fallen to his knees on the ground. He breathed heavily and clenched his fists to his chest. His gaze was frozen on the ground. He had almost lost control for sure.

I carefully put a hand on his shoulder, and his head snapped back immediately to glare at me. "I-I apologize. I saw you there... I simply had to help -"

" _No,_ " he growled, standing rigidly. I stepped back. " _They're_ not right." He turned, and his eyes burned down at me. "Father _only_ sent me to give _this_ to Peter Whittier." He shoved a half-crumpled envelope towards me firmly, speaking abruptly. " _They_ didn't _like_ my _skin_."

I took the letter from him. "Peter Whittier" was roughly scribbled on the front; a name I wasn't familiar with. I looked up at the boy and smiled kindly. "I'll make sure he receives it. You can go home if you have no other business in Hoquiam."

"No, I _don't_ ," he spat, annoyed. "Be sure that _only_ Whittier gets it. Don't let _any_ other hands _touch_ it. He'll know what it is when he sees it." Then he paused, as though realizing something important. "Wh-Who are you?"

"Oops, I should introduce myself. I'm Cornelia." I offered my hand, and his forever-fevered one shook mine firmly.

"Ephraim. Ephraim Black."

I smiled; he was proud of that name, and rightly so. "I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other, Ephraim."

His eyes narrowed, and I could tell that he knew what I was. After a moment he stood to his full height and nodded sharply. "Very well, Cornelia. I'm going now."

"Farewell." I curtsied.

He smiled at my mock-formality and bowed before turning to the dirt trail that lead out of town.


	5. A Chat with my Uncle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cornelia is forced into a confrontation with her "uncle" with bewildering results.

**Chapter 5: A Chat with my Uncle**

_October 28, 1789, midnight_

_Somewhere in Pennsylvania_

_I cowered in the dark oak forest, hugging my knees to my chest. My hands shook even when I held them tight. The crescent moon offered little illumination to the cold autumn night, but the stars burnt brightly in the midnight sky. Owls hooted quietly from treetops; crickets serenaded the heavens._

_I jumped up quickly when a foot stepped on a twig loudly. In panic, I ran._

_Arms caught me and held me back, and I started to scream until I realized whose arms they were._

" _Lakota!" I hissed, sinking to my knees. I saw his white teeth smile through the dark night. "Did you see them? How many are there?"_

" _I do not know; countless." Lakota's smile vanished, and he frowned. "Quee has stayed to lure them out," he said, and then I realized that there were other wolves surrounding us. "We will defend you during your return to the village; their feet are swift and they'll reach here soon."_

" _But, Lakota," I protested, "I want to help you fight! I can -!"_

" _Ssshh." He held up a hand, and I fell silent. He sniffed the air, and I copied him._

He was right; there are many.

_His eyes were bright with bravery, and he pushed me southwest towards the village. "Run, Cornelia. Fast!"_

_I obeyed. I ran as fast as my feet could carry me, but it wasn't fast enough. The vampire scent got closer and closer the farther I ran._

_Suddenly, something hit me. It felt like running headlong into an oncoming train, and it knocked the breath from my lungs as I hit the ground. It pinned my legs before I could act. I forgot all of Quee's and Lakota's combat training when I saw his bloody red eyes. I screamed louder every millimeter it got closer to my neck. I thrashed hard, and finally I broke free! I flipped away to safety... but too late. Pain erupted in my shoulder and my throat burned with my cries. Venom boiled my blood and stung my cells, and then I felt him take a mouthful of my life-giving blood..._

*~*~*~*

"Corneliaaaaaa! Yooohooo!"

I shot upright, panting. I ripped the clothing off my bloody shoulder and... _A scar? But -!_

I nearly fell off the small bed as I took in my surroundings. _The Featherbed... no vampires... no enemies._ Shaking my head vehemently, I forced myself to come back to the nineteenth century. I looked at the crescent-shaped scar on my collarbone and sighed heavily. It wasn't the first time that I'd experienced that same memory through my dreams. That's what all my dreams were - memories.

My whole body was covered in a cold sweat, and I shivered as I pushed the quilts off myself. My pale legs shimmered lightly, and my head jerked up to behold the perfectly blue sky out my window.

"Cornelia! Are you in there?" Martha shouted from the hall.

"Yes!" I groaned.

"The day is awaiting, dearie! 'Drop your dreams; rise as the sun'!"

Martha had taken to inventing her own proverbs over the past eight days I'd stayed at The Featherbed. Only her soups kept me asking for more.

The wooden floor felt like frozen ice when I put my bare feet on it. After wrapping a quilt around my shoulders, I quickly slipped on my socks and shoes. I leaned down at the hearth and stuck my finger in the semi-warm ashes there. Shuttering, I stood to get dressed for the day.

Smoothing my newly finished green smock, I walked down the hallway and descended the stairs. That green dress was the pride of my life. "Hello, Martha," I sang, skipping past the counter.

Her forever-flushed cheeks dimpled when she smiled. "Well, I declare! After all the other guests finish breakfast and _gone_!"

I giggled affably and took my usual seat. "Oh, Martha," I sighed dramatically, using my finest noble accent. "You've only waken me from the sweetest dream..." Why did I have such an affinity for _lying_?

"My, my, dear lady. Do tell, I say!" she exclaimed theatrically, flitting to my side with a bowl of cold soup. It was creamy potato soup, with the potatoes I'd helped her peel the previous evening.

We had invented our own tradition of bantering in the morning. I was fast becoming friends with Martha Brown. " _Well,_ " I began, "I dreamt of my love. My _true_ love!"

She gasped into her hand and began scrubbing a table with a damp rag. "Gracious me! How was he like, dear lady?"

"Why..." On perfect timing, Mister Wells came out of the door under the stairs, which I had leaned was his private quarters and office. "Why, he was...!" I looked back at Mister Wells and pointed dramatically, pretending to faint upon the table. Martha and I giggled into our hands as Mister Wells watched innocently.

"Have I just become a part of some joke?" he asked offhandedly. A small smile broke on his face when we simply continued to laugh.

"Go-od morning, M-Mister Wells," I said between chuckles. Martha struggled to gain her composure by pretending to drop her rag.

"And to you, Miss Cornelia." No one had queried after my surname, and I hoped to keep it that way for as long as possible... as I didn't have one. "And a fine one it is," he continued, straightening some papers and placing them behind the counter.

"Indeed, yes," I agreed, looking out the window at the blue sky again, still smiling. _I'll have to take an umbrella if I'm to go out._ The day was Saturday, and Mister Stockton had told me that I had no need to work on that particular day of the week. However, I would appear strange if I simply stayed _indoors_ all day.

"Caleb? Are you going out?" Martha called after her brother as he took his hat from the stand.

"Yes, I need to post this right away." He held up an envelope. "A good day to you, ladies." He tipped his head as he closed the door behind himself. The fire flickered with the wave of cold the door had let in. Apparently, the weather wasn't as mild as it appeared to be.

After silently finishing my entire bowl of soup in five spoons, my hands froze when I had the bowl halfway to my waiting tongue. _"Yes, I need to post this right away."_

"Martha?"

"Hmmm?"

"Who's Paul Whittier?" I asked, picturing the letter that sat under my bed next to my leather pouch of coins.

She laughed harmoniously. "Why, he's the senior physician at the clinic, Cornelia."

I deadpanned. I was very familiar with the small doctor's office that they called a "clinic." The "peaceful" vampire's scent went to and from it every day. When I didn't need to sleep, I snuck out of my north-facing window at night to hunt. Many times on such nights, I crossed his scent in the woods. Either _he_ was avoiding me too, or I was luckier than I thought. I had no clue what a vampire was doing in a doctor's clinic, but I knew it was no good thing. _Blood hoarding, mutilation, doctor "assisted" suicide..._

"Why do you ask, Cornelia?" Martha asked, bringing me from my musings. "Are you going to see your uncle?"

My white lie had spread around the town like wildfire. Gossipers and chinwags were prattling about it behind my back everywhere I roamed. Thus, I had devised a cleaver story to excuse my complete disregard for my "uncle." Since I discovered that the demon lived very far out of town, I claimed to have wished to live closer to town. _Yes_ , I had spoken with my uncle; _yes_ , he had given his consent to my current residence at The Featherbed. An elaborate falsehood, but it was all I could do to guard _his_ identity as well as mine.

I looked up at Martha as she took my empty dish. She was still waiting for an answer.

"Yes, Martha. I suppose I will."

As I returned to my room to retrieve the note, my plans were dashed when I remembered the weather. Even if I managed to reach the clinic, the demon would probably not be there. On the prior Wednesday, when he usually worked, the sun had prevented him from coming into town. That was the day that I tracked his scent to the large house in the forest on the border of town. After glimpsing the southern face of the vial lair, I had run back to Hoquiam with all due haste.

_Though it would be better to go there when he's not, I suppose. Maybe some clouds will come later..._

I set the envelope addressed to "Peter Whittier" in the sun-filled sill of my window, and sat down on the bed to work on my newest sewing project. I had bought two cents worth of white cotton for a nightgown. I'd even secured some lace trim for the hems and bust. I pulled my white thread through the fabric... in and out and in and out.

I helped Mister Stockton at the General Store every day from seven o'clock 'til lunchtime, except for the weekends. He paid me fifty cents each day, which was an overly generous sum. I had one dollar and fifty cents saved in my leather money pouch. I had already made my weekly payment of seventy cents to Mister Wells, and had splurged on some caramel chews and peppermint sticks at Mister Stockton's. I had refused when he offered half-price for employees, and he had laughed at my staunchness.

But what I had my eye on the most was the pocket watch at the glassblower's. The owner, one Mister Elijah Timmins, was a master glassblower and metalworker. The shop's name ("Timmins' Glassworks") did not allude to his other merchandise. He had glass cups and figures and panes, as well as metal locks and hinges and gadgets. His young apprentice, Nathan Cummings, the tavern owner's son, was deft with soft metals. He was also the designer of the object of my infatuation. The light silver pocket watch and chain in the front window caught my eye every time I walked by the storefront. It had an intricate molding on the face: tall majestic pine trees stand on a high cliff face, overlooking the stormy billowing ocean, fish jumping here and there between the graceful waves. It was twelve dollars.

Going by the sun, it was noon by the time I finished my nightgown. I tried it on, and was very pleased with my work. I had just started stitching the lace onto the collar when Martha knocked at the door.

"Come in, Martha!" I called, picturing her surprise when she heard her own name.

The door opened, and Martha waddled in with two fire logs in her arms. "How'd you know it was me?" she asked, her rosy cheeks turned up in a smile.

I set my needlework aside and stood to help her with the cold fireplace. "You knocked thrice; only you would knock so meekly." I couldn't imagine her appreciation of the fact that I could smell her rose-petal scent through the heavy door.

"Oh, Miss... I digress..."

After helping to stoke the fire and complimenting my fine sewing with the nightgown, Martha offered me some lunch. I declined, favoring to eat in my room. She left to help the lunch crowd of mill workers from the surrounding camps. Most of the workers favored The Featherbed's fine menu and friendly service over the tavern's brusque atmosphere.

As I settled back into my lace hemming, I glanced out of the window. Some puffs of white clouds were drifting overhead, but that didn't necessarily mean it would rain. _If I were outside, I would smell it on the wind if it were coming._

Not able to resist temptation any longer, I put my supplies away in the wardrobe and slipped the envelope into the front pocket of my smock. I would walk in the shadow of the buildings on Main Street while the sun was out. There were many things I still hadn't seen in Hoquiam, and I knew I could find something to keep me out of the sun.

I took a deep breath of the cold, moist, late morning air and set off. As I walked by the Tack and Bridle shop, I head the pounding of a hammer on an anvil. As I walked by the General Store, I heard Mister Stockton selling a pound of raw cinnamon. I wondered if I should buy some new material for another dress... or maybe a cloak for the cool weather. _I'll need a pattern... Mrs. Weaver doesn't have any that I can purchase._

The smell in the small shop was of parchment an ink. High, book-filled shelves meandered through the tight space, and I traveled through the dark maze to find the checkout counter. A man in a very fancy, purple suit sat behind it, his chin perched on his fist with his nose in a book. It was entitled _Letters from a Farmer in Pennsylvania to the Inhabitants of the English Colonies._ I remembered very well, when the pamphlet was published by John Dickinson.

"Hello, sir."

The man was very surprised by my sudden presence, and be bumbled his apologies as he half-closed his book. "Hmph, yes, how can I help you?" By the way his _h_ 's slurred and his _s_ 's dragged, the man was French.

"Yes, sir. I'm looking for a book on sewing patterns."

He motioned to the bookcase on the back wall with a lace-cuffed hand. "There should be several guides in that area, young lady. Talk to me once you find what you're looking for."

"Excellent. Thank you, sir."

"Hm, hm... no trouble at all."

I walked to the shelf and knelt at the bottom. Several titles caught my interest: _Felling the Frontier: A Guide on Timbering,_ _Hairstyles for American Women of 1800,_ _A Study: Post-War French and Indian Relations,_ and _The Guide to the Northwest_. However, the next shelf up held the item of my search _The Seamstress's Helper._

"Excuse me, sir," I said, taking my find back to the counter. The man glanced over top of his book. "How much is this volume?"

"All medium-sized books are three dollars, Miss."

I tried to hide me surprise. _Who knew books were so expensive?_ "O-Oh. Thank you, then. Good day."

I left the shop with a frown. _I hate being poor._ I walked along the very edge of my shadow until a reached the end of the street. Then, I turned around and started again.

It wasn't until the forty-seventh turn that clouds came out to cover the sun. And then, it was only a thin cover of white clouds. Sighing at my chronic misfortune, I set out across town to the clinic. When I reached the church's street, I caught _his_ scent. It always led to and from the clinic, but I could tell that the trail was fresh. He was taking advantage of the clouds, just as I was.

My fingernails were digging into the palms of my hands as I stood in front of the small doctor's office. His scent was all over the small white house; from the small stone path, to the blue wooden door. I could hear voices from inside, but I couldn't pay attention enough to decrypt them. My mind was screaming one thing and one thing alone. _Run_.

My teeth were grinding against each other as my hand gripped the brass doorknob. It took all my concentration not to crush it. I stared without seeing the red-and-white sign on the door: "Clinic open Monday through Saturday from five in the morning to eight in the evening. No appointments necessary. Surgeon Doctor Paul Whittier residing."

_His_ scent moved just behind the door. The door whose knob I was slowly turning...

"Oh... hello. How can we help you?"

I tried to collect my expression as I address the young human female that had spoken. "Er..."

The room was tiny; like the coat room of a schoolhouse. It looked as though it was the receiving room, as there was a paper-scattered desk where the human sat. Waiting benches were lined along the front walls, and a sliding pine door closed off the next room directly ahead. The human was in normal clothes, with a large white apron tied around her waist. She smiled kindly.

"Yes, I need to speak with Doctor Whittier."

Her eyes did a quick sweep of my un-harmed body. "Is it about a medical problem?"

I shook my head. "I need to deliver a message."

"Oh. In that case, you could just leave it with me if you like."

I was tempted. _Very_ tempted to simply give her the letter. However, Ephraim's words echoed through my head... _"Be sure that only Whittier gets it. Don't let any other hands touch it."_

"Um... I'd prefer to deliver it in person, if you don't mind."

She seemed surprised. "Yes, of course. You can go back, then." She motioned to the door.

I nodded to her, and smiled reassuringly. "Thank you, ma'am."

A shockwave of foreboding went through me when my hand touched the door. My instincts to flee made me want to crawl out of my own skin to get away from that door. The human looked at me strangely when I hesitated. So, I forced myself to slide open the door and bravely stepped inside.

The room must have been five times the first; the outside of the building hid its true size. Beds lined up along the walls, head to foot. Three large cabinets stood in the very middle of the room with medical supplies scattered on top of each. Windows circled the entire room, though there were dark brown draperies covering the light. The hardwood floors were spot clean, and the prominent smell in the room, other than drugs and medicines, was peroxide. However, when stood out from all the other odors in the room... was _vampire_.

I saw the demon immediately: he was kneeling in front of the bed in the rightmost corner of the room. Though he was facing away, I saw that he wore a similar suit to what I'd last seem him in (which was also the first time), and he now sported a cream-colored lab coat over it. A little girl sat on the edge of the bed, holding the hand of the man who stood over her, which I assumed was her father. The girl's blue eyes filled with tears, and her bottom lip trembled as she stared up at her father. My eyes widened when I saw what _he_ was treating. He pulled quick stitches through the torn, bloody skin of her knee.

I felt my stomach churn.

"Can I help you, Miss?"

I turned to the man walking toward me. He had greying hair on either side of his balding head, and his belly barely fit into his trousers. His spread-out brown eyes reminded me that of a frog. He couldn't have been very much taller than my five-foot three.

"Doctor Whittier, I presume?"

He spoke briskly, as though very occupied by something. "Yes. Paul Whittier. The pleasure is mine, I'm sure."

He made me feel uncomfortable. "I have a message here for you." I pulled the note from my pocket and held it out to him. "It is from the Quileutes. I was told you were expecting it."

His eyes brightened with recognition, and he took the envelope quickly. "Thank you. I was expecting it. Thank you for bringing it," he said briskly, turning away before he'd finished. _Perhaps he_ is _very occupied._

I felt immediately liberated. I'd never expected that I wouldn't even have to encounter _him_. I turned quickly for the door.

"Oh, Cornelia! Don't leave just yet. I'd like to speak with you."

I froze immediately. It was _his_ voice that had summoned me. I turned only my head, keeping my body angled towards the door. _He_ wasn't even looking at me, though the two humans were. I heard the male ask who I was, and I heard the demon explain that I was his relative, and then I heard the man recall that he'd heard that I was in town. _He_ wrapped the girl's stitched leg with a bulky bandage, and told her not to walk for a few days. The father thanked him, carefully picked the girl up from the cot, and walked towards the door.

The girl leaned against her father's shoulder, still fighting tears. The man was obviously worried about his child, and he merely nodded to me as he passed. The door slid shut unusually loud. The demon faced away towards the bed as he rolled up some spare gauze.

"Carlisle, I need to post something straightway. If Mrs. Parson calls, make sure she stays 'til I return."

"Of course, Doctor Whittier. Farewell."

Doctor Whittier walked by me again, not noticing me at all, stuffing some papers into a new envelope. Then, half-turning, said, "Ah, yes; thank you again, young lady. Good day to you."

"Good day," I whispered, not really caring if he head me. My eyes were stuck on the demon, which was making a note on the paper that sat on one of the cabinet tops.

The entire atmosphere changed in a matter of seconds when we were alone; it became charged with tense energy and circumspection. I noticed for the first time the ticking of the pocket watch that lay near _his_ inkwell, and the gentle patter of rain that had begun on the windows. Twelve candles hissed from their spots on the walls, in groups of four around the room.

I watched his amber-colored eyes track words on the page as he wrote.

Then, he set the quill down, and straightened. I flattened my back as well, though it did little for my intimidation output. Or lack thereof. He looked at me for the first time, and I looked back. We were both motionless for several long moments, and the wind blew the rain heavily against the house. I waited for him to make the first move, my muscles poised for anything and everything.

Suddenly, with near-silent footsteps, he moved closer. My ankles ached from holding myself there, and I tried to keep my face void of fear. He stopped about five feet from me, and even at that distance, I had to look up at his eyes. Those caramel eyes of his stared down at me, completely devoid of any emotion.

"I've heard a rumor," he said abruptly, startling me, "that my niece is in town."

I swallowed dryly. My voice shook, betraying my neutral expression, "W-Well... I... I've heard that as well." This was the moment I'd been dreading; what I had pictured since the first time I told the lie.

I'm sure I misconstrued the small smile that ghosted his lips. He continued, speaking purposely slow, "I'm sure you're aware of the inconspicuousness I wish to keep in Hoquiam."

I nodded slowly, solemnly.

"And you're familiar with the reason for that desire, are you not?"

I nodded again, sharply and surely. "I am."

He sighed then, very quietly, and the human gesture surprised me. _Does he confuse himself with them?_ "Then _how_ , Miss Cornelia, do you suggest we proceed from our current situation?"

I turned my chin up, matching his formal tone, "Is the situation so unacceptable the way it currently is?"

"Miss Cornelia, you forget that I have a 'family member' in town that the residents expect me to support."

"Perhaps she will fare well on her own, sir."

"It would be irresponsible of her care provider to abandon her in such a manner."

"Perhaps she no longer requires a care provider."

"A seventeen-year-old girl who has just traveled from Boston?" he countered. His tone questioned my sanity.

"Eighteen," I amended, becoming indignant.

"Nonetheless," he retorted. "Why is she _here_?"

I balked. I didn't have one for that - I didn't even know the answer myself. Yet, I stood my ground with stubbornness and pride. "That's _not_ of your concern."

He took one confident, broad step forward, and my façade nearly shattered. His voice was cold and curt. "I beg to differ."

I bit my lip hard to keep from retreating. " _Doctor Cullen._ " I addressed him harshly, using his title for the first time. "What do _you_ suggest?"

He blinked - another human exercise - and said nothing. _What strange world had this demon emerged from?_

I felt anger fill me, and felt a will rise up from somewhere within me. "A more important question would be _your_ purpose here." A will to fight. "Why are you a doctor? Why do you walk among _them_? And why are your eyes that _absurd_ color?"

His posture became more and more stiff with each question. The muscle in his jaw worked as he nearly glared down at me. I could tell he was fighting to keep his carefully cultivated composure. "Perhaps this is not the best place for those answers." He spoke through gritted teeth.

"No. Perhaps not."

I turned on my heel and promptly left the establishment...

Scared out of my mind.

 


	6. The Aversion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cornelia does her best to avoid Carlisle after their strange encounter, but thoughts of him seem to dominate her mind nonetheless.

  


**Chapter 6: The Aversion**

_November 28, 1813, 11:45 p.m._

_Hoquiam, Oregon Country_

I sat on my bed with a dark-brown flannel cloak wrapped around my shoulders, reading my new novel by candlelight. The flame flickered in the pitch-black room of The Featherbed, dancing off the pages of _Oliver Twist._ Three of my hard-earned dollars went into the purchase of that book, so I would never tire of reading it... even if it was my seventh time through.

My room was sparsely filled with my random acquisitions. An iron teakettle sat near the hearth, steaming with the fragrance of the black tea leaves I bought from Mister Stockton. In the wardrobe, a new set of fur-lined boots sat next to my old lace-ups; my old purple dress from the East hung next to my finished nightgown on the clothes bracket. A new batch of peppermint sticks sat on the table next to the bread Martha had served with dinner. My half-finished red satin sewing project was laid over back of the chair next to the fire, with _The Seamstress's Helper_ below it on the seat. This time, I was making a floor length, three-layer gown for the cold winter that had settled in. I planned to buy white fur for the collar if the weather allowed the following morning.

I raised the cup that I had clutched in my hand to my lips, but found that the liquid was gone. Hopping down from bed, I tiptoed to the hearth in my stockings, and poured some more tea from the kettle. There was only half a cup left.

After bookmarking my place with a fork, I set _Oliver Twist_ aside and took up my sewing.

It had been a full month since my discourse with the gold-eyed demon. I had been successful in my campaign to avoid him during those weeks. However, his scent sometimes wandered farther into town than merely the doctor's office. And I knew that he was tracking me just as I was him, because his scent sometimes wandered into my hunting grounds in the forest. _What_ could he could possibly be doing? _Setting traps, trying to scare me..._

In addition, I had often sensed the feeling of... being _watched_. I could feel eyes on me when I brought wood into the General Store from the woodpile in the back alley... or when I sat in the tailor shop, taking knitting lessons from Millicent... or when I dawdled in front of Timmins' shop, pining over the shiny watch in the window. Was _he_ messing with my mind? _Learning my habits, my vulnerabilities..._

It was Friday night, so I wouldn't have to work in the morning. I hadn't eaten Martha's shepherd's pie just so I could hunt that night. I had made a decision: since _he_ was so curious about me, I'd do a little surveillance of my own. I knew, from past investigation, that the demon _left_ for long periods of time every other Saturday (which was his time off from the clinic), starting Friday night after he left work. I had tried tracking him the Saturday before last, but his scent went so far north that I'd given up. I'd even gone so far that I ran across Titus Black in the Quileute territory. I'd asked him if he knew where the "Cold One" went every other week, but he'd had no knowledge of it.

So... tonight was the night. The night that I sacked his lair.

Of course, when he returned the following Sunday night, he would know that I had been there. My scent would linger, and he would know. But I didn't care, you see. I was _crazed_ by that demon... that demon with gold eyes.

I pulled on my new winter boots, secured my brown cloak around my shoulders, strapped Lakota's dagger under my skirts, and blew out the candle on the table. After sticking a peppermint stick in my pocket for the trip, I gently opened the small window above my bed. I hoisted myself through and dropped onto the large eve on the back of The Featherbed. Closing the window, I jumped the fifteen-or-so feet to the snow covered ground.

The first snow had been two weeks prior, and it had been piling up to one and a half feet ever since. It had stopped snowing hours ago, but the blizzard clouds still obstructed the stars from view. I landed knee deep in the white powder, with a soft thump. Glancing up, I pulled the hood of my cloak over my hair and ducked out into the night.

After being sure I was far from human sight, I broke into a run. My feet barely touched the snow, and my toes dusted along the top inch. Once I reached the forest outside of town, the snow was shallower and I slowed down to catch a scent.

_He_ had been all over those woods. I had hunted several days before, and had barely missed an encounter with the demon himself. _Stalking me, trying to intimidate me..._

I soon came along a doe and her fawn. I watched them for several minutes, until a stag came along and shooed his family on. I couldn't bring myself to separate them.

After wandering around some, I came along a faint scent and some paw prints in the snow. _Fox... my favorite._ I pulled out my dagger and followed the trail to a small den. He wasn't home, so I followed his scent even further until I found him. I snapped his neck quickly and made a deep cut in his neck with my dagger. I leaned over the body of the fox and drank deeply until I was satisfied, not letting one drop of the crimson liquid fall to the white snow.

I buried the body and cleaned my dagger in a snowdrift, then set off the demon's vial domain.

The house itself was very humble; the plain wood paneling and high roof peaks were not very noteworthy. However, the sheer _size_ of the two-story dwelling was enough to impress me. _Nearly twenty people could live here comfortably!_ Snow glistened in the clearing around the house, and was piled high against the low eaves of the first-story windows. The cold night breeze made me shiver as I cautiously came out of the forest around the house.

I double-checked the scent around the front door; it was hours old. A large overhanging shielded the front entryway from being snowed-in, and I rubbed the ice from the transoms around the heavy oak door to peer inside.

The space beyond looked like an ordinary receiving room. There was a cold, ashen hearth with some quilted chairs and a sofa. A cabinet for coats and hats stood next to a set of French doors, which appeared to lead to the next room. It was all very conventional, which again surprised me.

Crossing my fingers, I reached for the brass doorknob. I turned it slowly, and it found that it was unlocked. Not surprising, since the home was so far from any civilization. I stepped into the receiving room, and the door closed against the threshold with a soft thud.

I glanced around the room; it wasn't furnished very well. The wooden mantle was bare and dusty, and the hearth looked as though it hadn't been used in months. I passed by all this and pushed open the French doors.

The room beyond was an absolute mess, and even simpler than the receiving room. The plain, hard wood floors had rugs and mats of various sizes scattered across it, and the few pieces of furniture clashed with the lime-colored walls. I could barely recognize the room as a parlor/library/study. Three large bookshelves lined the back wall, covered in ten-times as many books that the bookshop in town offered. A large desk sat to the right, with half-written parchments and broken quills scattered across the top. And to the left, in front of another dusty hearth, was a large storage chest with three locks.

However, I truly noticed none of this. When my eyes held in such rapt wonder was the object suspended above the impressive, carved mantle. Even though the rest of the room was covered with dust and grime, this piece was not. There on the wall hung a large, plain, wooden cross.

Maybe it was the dark, mysterious house I was in, maybe the sheer, frigid temperature of the room, but when I saw the object above the mantle, I shivered. _What would a creature such as he be doing with an item of such sacredness? Crosses are holy... vampires are not._

I quickly left the sinister dwelling, not bothering to replace the umbrella into the stand that I'd stumbled over in my haste.

*~*~*~*

"Did you sleep well last night, Miss Cornelia? You seem anxious..."

I looked up from my bowl of untouched oatmeal, and watched Martha slowly sit in the seat next to me. A small pucker was between her eyebrows; she was worried about me.

I rubbed my eyes to feign tiredness. "Perhaps not... I do feel a bit unrested." But the grey under my eyes was from a different source entirely.

It was Monday, a workday. Mister Stockton requested that I come to work at seven in the morning, to help set up shop before he opened at half past. Sadly, it was two full hours before my shift began. I hadn't slept for days, ever since I'd visited _his_ home. I had laid in bed all night the last evening, staring at the wood paneling of the ceiling. The demon would return that early morning, and come into town for his work at the clinic. _Who could sleep with such horrors occurring?_

"Oh..." Martha frowned, and then brightened with a thought. "Perhaps the day spent working will keep your mind off of it," she said comfortingly.

I gazed at her curiously. She was very perceptive, just like her brother. "Yes, perhaps... thank you, Martha. You're my sanity, you know." I smiled affectionately.

"Aw, Miss." She flushed, standing to receive a guest that had entered.

I forced myself to swallow the oatmeal, not tasting anything at all. I stared out the dim, ice-crystalized windowpanes at the gently falling snow. The weather was dropping ten degrees a day, and the snow didn't relent one bit. Across the street, a brave soul ducked into the General Store.

I shook the lace cuff off my wrist and took a drink of my warm water. Millicent from the tailor's had helped me scrub all the dirt from my Eastern dress, and mended the sleeves and hem. She charged nothing, claiming that the sight of the style alone was payment enough. The dress had been designed for a corset, but I had never used one. And apparently, to my delight, people in the West did not wear corsets.

"Good day, Miss Cornelia. Do you fare well today?"

Glancing behind myself, I saw Mister Wells closing the door to his chambers. "I fare fine, Mister Wells. I trust your night was peaceful as well?"

"Yes," he said, wiping the frost from the window by the door, "very peaceful." He gazed out at the hazy morning.

"Good morning, Caleb! Did you sleep soundly, brother?" Martha chirped, skipping over to peck his cheek. I never understood why Martha was always so chipper in the mornings. She even had to walk from the apartment above the tailor's to the inn in the cold weather. _Mister Brown must make her very happy._

I couldn't finish most of my oatmeal; my stomach was in knots. My mind was on the demon in the doctor's office. _Will he be angry?_ I could imagine the schemes of revenge he was devising to counter my despicable action. _Will he care?_ I couldn't picture him brushing it off as simply an accident. Because it wasn't an accident; it had been very intentional. _What had I been thinking? He'll hunt me down and -_

"Miss Cornelia, you haven't moved for quite times... are you alright?"

I jerked out of my thoughts and looked over at Martha _,_ who was slowly winding some brown string into a ball behind the counter. She watched me curiously, worriedly.

I popped out of my seat, putting a hand to my clammy forehead. I had sat there for hours. "Nothing! Yes, no... I'm just fine, Martha. Thank you." I stumbled up the stairs to retrieve my cloak, and promptly ventured into the snow-painted landscape of Hoquiam.

Mister Stockton was in an unusually bad moon when I arrived for the day's work. Apparently, his younger brother, Daniel, had gotten into some trouble back East.

"My whole family lives in New York," Mister Stockton told me as I organized the spice rack behind the counter. "They've lived there for years; my grandfather came over from Scotland before the War. _"_

"Y-You're Scottish?" I asked as politely as I could. He didn't look it at all.

He chuckled at my surprise. "Scots-Irish, but you couldn't bear witness for one shinny penny. How about you, little lady? How did your folks end up in Boston?"

My hand froze as I put a jar of cinnamon on its shelf. Mister Stockton had never asked about my family in the East, and I hadn't had time to come up with a reasonable response. "I... don't know where my mother was from. _"_ I paused, deep in thought. "But my father was from Europe." An extremely vague response - all Americans were from some eastern country.

However, Mister Stockton didn't press the matter, like the gentleman he was.

Martha had been right: work did help keep my mind off _him_. Patrons were few and far between, due to the weather, but Mister Stockton had plenty of work for me nonetheless. But, every once in a while, my eyes would wander to the misty windows where the white snow drifted through the air... and I would wonder if he was in town. If he had found the evidence, I left so carelessly at his home. If he was mad or insulted or offended somehow _._

And, worst of all, I wondered if he was wondering about me.

 


	7. The Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After weeks of silence between Cornelia and Carlisle, it seems that a direct confrontation is the best way to break the tension.

**Chapter 7: The Confrontation**

_December 12, 1813, 1:33 p.m._

_Hoquiam, Oregon Country_

"Good day. Thanks again, Misses Weaver."

"How many times must I ask you, Cornelia? Call me _Millicent_."

"Just one more time, Misses Weaver."

I smiled as Misses Weaver waved a dismissive hand at me. Laughing quietly, I exited the tailor's shop into the cold, Sunday afternoon in Hoquiam. The air was dry from the temperature, and the melting snow mirrored the white dome of the heavens. Though the weather had been mild as of late, rumor had it, another blizzard was brewing.

Even though the day was holy, Millicent had made a special exception to the rule and met me at the shop for lessons. I was becoming quite deft with knitting and quilting under her instruction.

I glanced up and down the street nervously before starting out for the inn.

Two steady weeks had passed. My routine had continued very much the same: working for Mister Stockton in the mornings, passing the time with Misses Weaver in the afternoons, and helping Martha with chores in the evenings. My life was predictable and comfortable - something I hadn't experience in my short life yet. I savored it.

I had lived in fear during the week after my escapade at the devil's mansion. I was paranoid; I never slept. Also, I never went into the woods to hunt; so much so, that all the gold in my irises had disappeared completely. It wasn't until Mister Wells began gazing into my eyes for long periods of time that I began to hunt again. I was sure that he noticed the difference, and that he was suspicious. What other reason could it be?

The only other deviation from my contented schedule had occurred the past Friday afternoon. A frequent patron of Mister Stockton's was the good Misses Paul Whittier - Eliza Whittier. She was long-winded in her passing conversations with me, and was fond of sharing her "boundless" knowledge of gourmet cooking with any ear that would hear.

So, while taking my usual evening stroll through Hoquiam on Friday, I bumped into Misses Whittier coming home from tea. She complimented my dress and invited me to dinner at her home, which was nestled in the neighborhood in town. Wanting to improve my relations with Mister Stockton's customers, I readily accepted.

I helped her slave over an elaborate three-course dinner in anticipation of Doctor Whittier's return that evening. To my ultimate horror, that happened to be the specific night that the Doctor had requested his associate, the good Carlisle Cullen, to dinner.

The demon and I had sat across from each other in the Whittier's tiny dining room, pretending to be closely related. I'd glared whenever he caught my eye, and his expression had never been revealing. I had spoken only when was necessary, and I'm sure that Misses Whittier noticed my suddenly stiff demeanor. Fortunately, Doctor Whittier had occupied the conversation mostly with work-related things, to which _he_ would vaguely comment on. I'd noticed that his food had gone untouched, even though he'd complimented Misses Whittier on the duck.

The couple had expected me to leave with my uncle, so our farewells were said collectively. We'd walked together, without speaking, as far as the church lane - until I couldn't take anymore. With a hasty, one-sided, "Good evening," I had bolted to the inn as fast as humanly visible.

That had been the extent of our encounter. And for whatever reason, the experience had encouraged him to _skip_ his northern trip for that weekend - thus my paranoia that Sunday afternoon. He was in town; his scent was everywhere. Yet, he carefully avoided me.

I quickly returned to The Featherbed, determined to distract myself. _I'll practice the new technique Millicent taught me. That should keep my mind off him._

But my plans were dashed when I walked through the door.

"Oh, Cornelia! Look who's called!" Martha walked over to me as I closed the door. I tried to keep my eyes on her round, smiling face. I tried to be interested in the brown spoon and dry cloth she held in her hands. But all my effort was demolished when she said her next... three... words..., "It's your uncle!"

My neck turned stiffly to see the only occupant of the dining room. The demon sat at the table farthest the fire - not surprising - watching me with bright gold eyes. _He waited for me. He invaded my home and waited for me to return so he could torture me further._ I couldn't help the flicker of fury that sparked within me. _What_ _impertinence._

_He_ stood, and stepped out from the table. "Hello, Cornelia," he said kindly, smiling with familiarity.

His manner made my skin crawl. "Hello," I said curtly. I forced myself not to push Martha out of the way when _he_ passed by her.

"I thought that we could spend the afternoon together," said the demon. His expression was soft, but his eyes were severe. _He knows that I won't object in front of Martha._

"Of course," I said brightly, forcing a smile. "That will be fine, uncle."

"Excellent. It was a pleasure, Misses Brown." He tipped his head to Martha as he steered me towards the door.

Martha giggled behind her hand. "Likewise, Doctor Cullen. Goodbye, Miss Cornelia!"

I managed a small wave before the demon closed the door behind us. He stepped out from the covered eave of the door, and motioned for me to join his side.

I stood my ground. The pleasantries were over. "What is the meaning of this?" I demanded tersely.

"Please, come along," he encouraged, beckoning once again.

_Vial monster._ "I will not be treated as though -"

Suddenly, he stepped forward and took my elbow in his hand, pulling me along down the street. I would've torn him to shreds right there, if it weren't for all the human witnesses around. "What do you think you're doing?" I hissed, too quiet for human ears, "release me!" I would have used my elbow to jab him in the gut if he hadn't been holding it so tight.

He carried on swiftly. "I intend no harm. Please accompany me, and you will find out," he said quietly, glancing down at me.

My posture was stiff as we continued, but to others, it appeared as a casual walk between uncle and niece. I gnashed my teeth the whole way, fighting the urge to fight.

It was in no time at all that we arrived at the end of the street. He proceeded to guide us even further south, and I knew our destination was the stables. _He's going to kidnap me. He'll kidnap me and kill me with no witnesses._ "Stop!" I commanded, digging my heels into the snow.

But I was too late; we had already arrived at a small pasture. The sign in front of the small cottage there read: **Heinz Stables**.

"Stay," the demon commanded me.

My mental cognitive ability must have been temporarily impaired, because I did exactly what he told me to. I stayed, fuming. I heard voices on the other side of the house, but I ignored them.

The demon returned, guiding two chestnut houses out of the gate near the cottage. A bald man stuck his head out of the cottage door and shouted, in a German accent, "Alvays a pleasure, Doctor Cuvlen!"

"Good day, Heinz," he replied, waving a friendly wave.

I recoiled in horror. _That human...! What travesties have been befalling this possessed town?_

I stood, gaping, as the demon reined the horses to a two-bench sleigh that I hadn't noticed I was standing by. I looked from the cottage to the horses. "Y-Y-You..."

"Come," I heard him say.

When I turned, he was holding out his hand to help me up onto the bench next to him. I paused for several long moments, contemplating the situation. Then, reaching a decision, I ignored his hand and lifted my skirts to climb into the hindmost bench.

Retracting his hand, he acted as though my deed was ordinary, or expected. He gave a quick snap to the reins, and the two horses took off through the snow. I drew my red, satin cloak closer to my body to trap some heat. With our moderate speed, the cold wind was harsh on my face.

Neither of us spoke.

*~*~*~*

The second we came to a stop, I collected my skirts and jumped to the snowy ground. I thought it was cruel that the demon didn't provide his horses with a stable, merely leaving them to the cold lean-to behind his petty home. As he secured the sleigh, I began walking toward the forest west of the house, lifting my feet high above the eighteen inches of snow.

I heard his hurried footsteps behind me, and then he was walking by my side. I didn't spare him a sideways glance. "Won't you come in? The weather must be ten degrees."

"No," I answered without pause.

His tone was challenging. "Was my humble abode not pleasing to you the last time you visited?"

I froze as stiffly as the icicles that dangled from the trees. He stopped as well, and I rigidly turned my head to look up at him. His expression was just as I'd imagined it would be: complacent and condescending. "No," I said again, resuming my trudge through the snow.

He followed for a time, until I stopped, half a mile into the trees.

The forest was decked with snow and ice. The bark of trees was crusted with frozen rain, and the branches were weighted heavy with it. Puddles and streams of ice ran here and there through the underbrush, and every perch that a leaf offered was filled with white powder.

I brushed the snow from a large, fallen limb and sat, folding my bare hands in my lap. The white fur of my scarf dusted my chin, and the red satin of my dress and cloak blazed against the white of the snow. I waited patiently for the demon to speak.

His hands were folded behind him, and he paced a small trail to and fro in the snow, about ten yards away. He wore a formal black suit, as he usually did, with a high collar for the cold weather. And deception, of course. His dead hands would never have need for the expensive leather gloves he wore.

Finally, after a few minutes of this, he spoke, "I've brought you here to answer some questions I have about you. And of course, you may ask me anything as well."

_The nerve._ "Unfortunately, I have _not_ given you permission to ask anything you wish. I will only respond to the questions that I deem worthy of an answer."

This statement seemed to cause him hesitation, but he recovered before I could confirm what I saw. "Very well. I believe my first query is quite obvious." He stopped then, and looked at me very pointedly. "You are not human," he stated.

His words would have been humorous, had his expression not been so somber. "No, I am not," I said. "I am only half-human."

He nodded, and looked as though he'd already known. "Indeed," he commented grimly, "I am also curious as to-"

"I beg your pardon," I interrupted.

He froze.

"I would like to ask you a question now."

He motioned for me to continue.

I took a steadying breath. "Your eyes," I addressed, "why are they... as they are?"

As he spoke his reply, he seemed proud of it. "I do not hunt the blood of humans as others of my kind practice. I drink the blood that of animals."

I nodded blankly.

"Does this not surprise you?" His tone was assuming.

I shook my head vaguely. _I've known all along, I think, somewhere in my mind._

He paused for a moment. I wondered if he thought I'd perhaps misunderstood his words. Then, "The knife marks?" he asked suddenly.

I was startled. "Wh-What?"

"You are a sloppy hunter - I've seen the bodies of your prey."

I felt a rush of embarrassment when I realized what he was referring to. "Oh... well, you see... my teeth are-" I motioned weakly with my hand "-they aren't..."

Suddenly, his severe expression melted away as he erupted with laughter. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I watched him. He was much less demon-like when he laughed.

I stood, and took several steps towards him. I laughed quietly into my hand. "And now," I said lightly, "another question for you."

"Yes, of course. Forgive me," he said, clearing his throat.

I felt that the conversation had relaxed, at my expense. "You leave every alternating Friday evening far to the north, and return the respective Sunday. Where do you go?" I asked.

He looked impressed that I'd noticed. "There are others that believe as I do in a very Northern region of Canada. I leave to visit with them."

I struggled to maintain my composure. This surprised me greatly - that would've been the last thing that I assumed in my speculations. But one thing confused me. "Believe... as you do? What belief?" I asked curiously.

"The belief that human life is precious - that we should strive to protect it, rather than consume it."

I swallowed thickly. His responses were befuddling. "B-But... why?" The idea that a vampire should "strive to protect" human life was very nearly unbelievable; it was absurd.

He smiled, and I began to see some human-like morals in his eyes. "You forget, it is _my_ turn to ask a question."

I hadn't noticed that my curiosity had gone so far. "All right, then... go on."

"How long have you lived?" he asked, and I noticed he'd stepped closer as well.

"I was born of my human mother in 1778. I became this way in 1785, and have been the same ever since."

He nodded in acknowledgement, and I couldn't read his reaction.

"That leads me to the same question. How old are you?" I had never thought of it before, or wondered. He had only been a demon in my eyes. _He still is... isn't he?_

"I was born in London, over one-hundred and seventy years ago. I was changed at the age of twenty-three."

"One-hundred and seventy...," I repeated slowly, deep in thought.

"If it's not too forward, who were your parents?" he asked, continuing our exchange as though his age was petty.

"My parents," I repeated, slowly coming back to myself. My eyes refocused on his curious gaze. "I do not know who my parents were. My father... left me when I was an infant. My mother... died the day I was born." I couldn't come up with any more to say.

"I apologize for my curiosity; you are quite fascinating to me." The small smile on his face was almost ashamed.

"I've never known someone such as you. The ones that I encounter are..." - I grasped for words - "not as _civil_."

He seemed confused by this, but made no further comment.

"Your question," I pondered. I'd run out of things to ask. "How... were you changed? I mean... by whom?"

He answered readily, though it was unwilling. "In my human life, I hunted vampires. I was very unsuccessful, and became careless because of it. I should never have doubted their existence... and that doubt was severely punished one night." He took a breath to continue, and I noticed just then that he hadn't been inhaling and exhaling regularly through our conversation. "I don't know who it was that bit me, because the mob that followed me surely destroyed him after the attack."

_He was forced into this life; he didn't want it._ "I see. So... you... hunt animals because-?"

His voice was certain. "I do not wish to be condemned for my nature alone. A nature I did not want to accept."

My mind ravaged the information, trying to understand. He allowed me a moment to think.

"I have many more questions," he said presently, "but I shall leave you with just one more for today."

I nodded, looking up from the ground, where my gaze had traveled. By the sun, we had spoken until suppertime. "What do you wish to know?"

He smiled suddenly, and chuckled lightly. "Your surname," he said, amused.

I imaged the amusement with a smile of my own. "I... do not have one. I am simply 'Cornelia'."

 


	8. A Human Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once things finally start cooling down (literally), Cornelia and Carlisle celebrate a traditional Christmas.

**Chapter 8: A Human Christmas**

_December 24, 1778, Sunrise_

_Boston, Massachusetts colony_

_The snowflakes fell gently down from the heavens, dusting the cobblestone streets with white powder. The hard stone under my feet felt strange, after spending so much time in the forest. People stared at me as they passed, and a young boy made an ugly face from his mother's arms._

_The long sleeves of the white shirt draped over my shoulders dragged on the path behind me. My skin tingled from the cold, harsh weather and my feet felt numb from frost burn. However, just like I hadn't for three full days, I didn't stop walking._

_Suddenly, a large beast came stomping down the street, baring a human on its back. Startled by seeing a horse for the first time, I stumbled back a few steps and tripped over the long sleeve of my garment. I put my face in my hands and did all that I knew how to do - cry._

_My voice was high and piercing, and hurt even my own ears. Tears leaked from between my fingers, and fell onto the ground beneath me. When I ran out of breath, the cold air that entered my lungs hurt my chest._

_Then, a voice said, "Child, where is your mother?"_

_I didn't understand the words, but they caused me to stop crying. When I looked up at the lady standing over me, my vision was blurry. I raised my tiny fists and wiped the moisture from my eyelashes. "Child where is your mother," I repeated in my young voice._

_The woman smiled, and leaned down to pick me up. Her skin was warm, and stung against my frozen flesh. I shivered. "You are cold through!" the woman exclaimed._

_"Cold through," I repeated, my teeth chattering. The woman held me close to her bosom and I nestled into her warmth._

_"Don't worry. Martha will help you find your mother," she whispered kindly._

_My small hands clutched at her shoulders. "M-Martha... m-mother..."_

*~*~*~*

I shuttered awake. The dream left me confused for several moments, until I sat up and realized I was no longer an infant. I rubbed the tiredness from my eyes. _It feels like so very long ago..._

Gasping, I wrapped my hands around my shoulders. Somehow, during the night, all the quilts on my bed had fallen to the floor. I shivered as I reached for them, and more so when they felt ice-cold. I wrapped myself in a cocoon and gritted my teeth to keep from shaking. "C-C-Cold-d-d."

Martha was singing Christmas carols when I descended the stairs. Her voice was flighty and winded, but the three guests in the dining room seemed to enjoy it along with me. Breakfast was special for the Eve of Christmas morning: maple soaked oatmeal with butter.

Martha and I, of course, had decked the inn with all sorts of holiday cheer. Beside the fire, a tiny evergreen sat perched in a water-bucket, with holly and colored string upon its branches. We'd even collected pine needles to burn in the fire for the peaceful aroma. A miniature nativity made of glass sat on the counter, and the sunlight through the windows caught the glass in rainbow gleams.

I ate as fast as I could.

The sky was blue when I emerged into the cold morning. The fresh snow that had fallen during the night glistened in the sunlight, and I heard the singing of carolers coming from the church. However, the day was Friday, a workday.

I pulled the hood of my cloak further up with my gloved hand, as I crossed the sunny street. For once, I was fortunate for the cold; I could wear a box over my head in the sun and still have a valid excuse. When I entered the General Store, the scent of peppermint and holly berry greeted me in a joyful embrace. I inhaled deeply as I closed the door against the cold.

There were ten or eleven patrons milling about the shop; all appeared to be waiting for Mister Stockton's assistance. My manager stood behind the counter, scribbling rapidly with a quill as the young lady he was helping dictated some desired goods. I untied the cloak from my neck and hung it on the receiving stand next to the door. I slipped my hands from my knitted mittens (designed by Millicent Weaver) and hung them by their strings as well.

"Might I help you with something, madam?" I asked the elderly woman who stood by the spices. She had a perplexed look on her face as she scrutinized a list of ingredients in her hands.

"Yes...," she said slowly."I don't believe you have what I'm-"

"Miss, could you take the payment for this?" A frustrated-looking man had stepped forward and interrupted her. "I need to get to Port Angelis right away and-"

I put up a hand to stop him. He was quite rude. "I'm sorry, sir. Mister Stockton takes all the bills."

I old woman looked up at the man as though he'd just committed murder. Her voice was patronizing. "Excuse _me_ , young man. I didn't know that _your_ order was so much very important than the rest of-"

"Ma'am, sir, I'm sure Mister Stockton will be with you any-"

"Cornelia!" Mister Stockton had spotted me in the crowd, and was waving his hands over his head.

I poked through the large volume of people in the tiny shop, up to the service counter. I ducked through the opening and popped up next to Mister Stockton. "Good morning, Mister Stockton. I'm here for work."

He let out a mighty laugh, and the man he was servicing gave him a quizzical look. "Cornelia, I wouldn't have you work on Christmas Eve! Whatever gave you the idea? I'd thought it went without saying!" He spoke loudly over the droning voices in the store, turning to reach one of the high shelves behind the counter. It was the brown sugar. _He should know that you need the stool to reach the brown sugar._

"But sir," I protested, walking over to the step-stood in the corner. I dragged it over to the shelf he was trying to reach. "I've never seen the shop so busy; I should be here to help you!" I raised my voice, too.

"Nonsense! Oh, thank you," he said, stepping up to reach the sugar. "I won't have you spend your holiday a-working! You should go enjoy the snow, you know." He untied a pound of the product and slid it toward the irritated man at the counter. "That'll be a dollar and fifty cents, my good sir."

" _Hardly_ , Mister Stockton," I said grouchily, crossing my arms. "What would I have to do with the _snow_?"

The man moved away from the counter when he finished paying, and the impatient gentleman from before stumbled up. "John, I need this right away. How early can you -"

"One moment, sir." Mister Stockton turned to me. "Cornelia, I must insist that you leave before I raise your paycheck."

I pursed my lips. _I don't think I can handle those kinds of demands._ "Very well, then, Mister Stockton. I will see you on Monday morning."

He smiled after me as I ducked under the counter again. "That's a girl, Cornelia. You enjoy your holiday, now!"

I returned his sentiment, and left the shop once again. The carolers had progressed to the streets, and the air rang with the notes of "Oh, Come Ye Merry Gentlemen."

I walked slowly back to The Featherbed, pulling my hood to hide my face from the sun. No gleam of polished metal could be seen from the glassblower's down the street... someone had purchased my precious pocket watch two weeks before.

I passed by the inn, thinking about what I could occupy my time with. _I hadn't planned on not working today... Carlisle will be meeting me this afternoon..._

Since the confrontation in the forest, I had learned more and more about the vampire with gold eyes. We met nearly every day, and spoke of many things. Of course, our conversations were hardly appropriate for mortal ears, so it was important that we hold our meetings in seclusion. When we weren't sitting by the fire in his parlor/library/study, we were walking slowly along the quiet church street.

It was strange to speak so freely with someone - a vampire, no less - but every word between us flowed like water. I told him of Lakota and his pack of werewolves, and he spoke of his boyhood in London. I even admitted that I'd thought of him as a demon for all those weeks, and he confessed that he'd thought I was some twisted figment of his imagination come to haunt him. We spoke of the unchanging will of the human race, and the politics of the frontier.

I'd listen with rapture when he'd told me about his transformation. How he'd dragged himself to a potato cellar for those painful days, just to be hidden from human sight. How he'd swam across the English Channel, finding that he needn't take a single breath the entire way. How he'd immigrated to America not long ago, hoping to find others "like himself" here. He told me of the coven of animal-feeders to the north, and that he'd known the man named Eleazar when he was in Europe. He had practiced medicine for almost as long as he'd lived, and had nearly desensitized himself to the lure of human blood.

I found myself becoming more and more fascinated with Carlisle Cullen.

Our conversations often drifted to me: my life, and my curse. The curse of my blood that called to his kind like a siren. He told me that my scent affected him more than an ordinary human's did, and I noticed that he often didn't breath when we sat in his parlor/library/study. His comments such as that made me feel uncomfortable, so I would quickly change the subject whenever it came up.

So, I reflected upon all of this as I walked down and up the business street of Hoquiam. _He won't be in town; the sun's out._ I wondered if it would be rude to impose on his residence that morning. I had never called upon him without an invitation before. _We_ did _make plans today... perhaps I'll blame my rudeness on the sun._

The crowd in the dining room had cleared out by the time I reached the inn. I quickly ran upstairs before Martha could noose me into another verse of "Hark! The Harold Angels Sing."

Once in my room, I opened the wardrobe and pushed the hanging garments aside. Reaching behind some piles of extra material, I found small brown paper box I had stashed there. I'd taken much pride in my gift to Carlisle, and I was sure that he'd approve.

"I'm going to visit my uncle, Martha," I said, interrupting her cheerful song.

She continued anyway, "Born that man no more may die! Born to raise the sons of earth; born to give them second birth!" and waved to me from beside the fire. Martha had been very accepting of my sudden interest in my "uncle." _Or is it just because she doesn't want to stop stirring the curry?_

I left town discreetly, and jogged through the forest to Carlisle's house. The sun warmed the ice on the trees, and drips of water and slush could be heard throughout the wood. Come nightfall, all that melted snow would become ice.

As I approached the house, I picked his scent in the trees; it was fresh. I suspect that he'd hunted recently, and I followed his trail right to the snow-covered house. He answered the door before I'd knocked twice.

He tried to hide his shock. "Cornelia, I hadn't expected you... Forgive my surprise," he said, smiling as he held the door open.

I rushed inside so he could shut the cold out. "I should apologize, Carlisle. I know we promised to meet in town, but the sun was out and Mister Stockton gave me the day off and Martha is doing nothing but singing carols, so I thought that perhaps it would be best for me to come here instead of you coming..." I stopped my ramble, out of breath. "So, I'm here." I smiled.

He chuckled softly as he closed the door, and turned to me. "It sounds as though you've had quite the Christmas Eve morning."

"Yes," I agreed, slipping the gloves from my hands. As I walked into the parlor/library/study, I was surprised by the fire crackling in the hearth. _He hadn't expected me, yet..._ "And how was your evening, Carlisle?" I asked, trying to distract my mind from speculation.

"Uneventful," he replied, taking the cloak from my shoulders.

I nodded in thanks and stepped forward to hold my hands toward the fire. _No, perhaps he only lit it for convenience sake... it appears as though it was kindled hours ago..._ "Is that so?"

"Indeed. Unless you consider a brush with a black bear to be an event; the lady nearly tore my arm off in fear that I may hurt her young."

The imagery he created caused me to smile. "Yes, I do believe that counts as an event."

A freight train could have passed between us in the space he left as he moved by me. He took a seat on the sofa before the fire, exactly where he usually sat. "So, what excitement has left you so dauntless on this clear day?" he asked pleasantly, folding his hands.

It took me a moment to remember exactly why I had come. _I had a reason, right?_ "Um... oh, this!" I reached into the large pocket in my skirts and extracted the gift. I stood and walked to the sofa, depositing the small box on the seat next to him. I sat on the opposite end, leaning as far away as I could onto the armrest.

Intrigue flashed in his eyes as he picked up the present. He looked at me and grinned. "I believe the tradition of gift-giving is reserved for Christmas _Day_ ," he emphasized.

I folded my hands in prayer, pleading impishly with my eyes. " _Indulge_ me, Carlisle."

He smiled playfully, and pulled the brown string from the box. As he neatly folded the brown paper to the side, I felt a rush of nerves. _What if he doesn't like it? What if he thinks it's too-?_

"Brilliant!" He pulled the small, homemade trinket box from the package, and held the painted glass up to the light. "How did you make it?"

I was almost offended that he assumed that I made it. _Does it look that bad?_ "It's not very creative, I know. It's only stained glass from Mister Timmins; I told him were I'd like it cut, and I soldered it together with my hearth." I laughed in remembrance, rubbing my fingertips together. "I nearly burnt my fingers."

He opened the tiny silver hinge and let the sunlight from the window illuminate the glass. The tiny triangles and squares of greens, reds, blues, and yellows came together in the form of a vivid Christmas star. Only our eyes would be able to perceive the kaleidoscope of rainbows that the light converged to create.

"It's dazzling... you must have spent much time crafting this. I can't thank you enough." He took his eyes away from the curio only to smile gratefully to me.

I felt heat rise in my cheeks. My delight was as boundless as my empty money pouch. "You flatter me, Carlisle. I'm glad to have pleased you."

He seemed distraught at my humility. "I'm afraid the gift I planned for you is not as inspired," he said meekly.

I giggled into my hand. "I'm surprised that you thought of it," I said offhandedly, then regretted it. "Sorry," I apologized, immediately contrite. "That was discourteous."

"Not at all," he said, setting my gift aside to reach into his coat. He pulled out a similar, smaller brown box. "To be quite honest, I hadn't expected such a gift from you either, Cornelia."

A moment of awkwardness passed between us. "I suppose each of us is a lot more human than the other thought."

A small smile ghosted at his lips. "I suppose so..." he trailed off, holding out his gift.

Our fingers brushed when I reached to take it, and I quickly withdrew my hand. I felt a blush creep into my cheeks as I untied the string. Pulling away the paper revealed a plain, black box. I glanced up at Carlisle's patient smile before lifting the top off. There sat the pocket watch from Timmins' window.

"Carlisle!" I exclaimed, gazing at the shinning metal face. "I thought this had been purchased long ago!"

He laughed at my glee. "It was; I wanted to wait for the right occasion."

The information shocked me. _If he was the one who bought it, then that was two weeks ago... days before we began speaking kindly with each other... so why...?_ "It's lovely... I've been wanting it since the day I saw it. Thank you." _Had he only done it to aggravate me? Had he seen me admire it and wanted to take it from me?_

His smile was endearing. "You're very welcome. Merry Christmas Eve, Cornelia."

I mentally shook myself of tainted worry, and smiled back with good cheer. "Merry Christmas, Carlisle."

 


	9. The Request and the Behest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cornelia is surprised to discover with whom she's attending the town's spring festival.

**Chapter 9: The Request and the Behest**

_March 19, 1814, noon_

_Hoquiam, Oregon Country_

"Come now, Martha - you jest."

"No, dear, not in the slightest! I've only just been to Doctor Whittier last evening!"

My denial was fruitless. "Martha... are you really, _truly_ with child?"

Her brown curls bounced when she vigorously nodded. "Yes, yes! A thousand times _yes_!"

I pulled her into a hug to hide the moisture in my eyes. "Really, Martha? Really?"

That winter of 1813 had melted away with the snow, and the early spring of 1814 was upon us. Storm clouds mourned over Hoquiam nearly every day, and the grass became greener by the hour. I now worked at the General Store full time (with full pay of five-dollars a week), and I now apprenticed young Eleanor Wilson (the young girl I'd first seen in the doctor's office) in the art of sewing.

The days blurred together and the nights faded away until it was the week before Mister Stockton's forty-third birthday. The gift I had been planning was a free day of work, but as the twenty-fourth of March drew closer, I began to have second thoughts. I had been mulling over new ideas over breakfast when Martha sprang the news on me.

"I don't believe it!" I finally exclaimed, collapsing back into my chair. "What did the Doctor say?"

Martha sat down across from me with a dreamy expression on her face, holding her chin in her hand. "Shamus and I have wanted a child for many years now... Doctor Whittier said that we may have finally done it!" She blushed, and her smile was contagious.

"Oh, Martha-" I reached across the table and put my hands on top of hers- "I'm so glad for you."

"Thank you, Cornelia." She laughed, looking more relived now that I'd calmed down. "I couldn't be happier."

Just then, the door opened to reveal Mister Wells. He took off his hat and coat, and was hanging them on the stand when I scurried over.

"Mister Wells! Didn't you hear the news? You're going to be an uncle!" I said excitably, clasping my hands to my chest in delight.

He smiled down at my excitement, and then glanced over at Martha. "I heard last evening. It is _excellent_ news." His smile wasn't as enthusiastic as his forced tone.

Something was dreadfully wrong. "Mister Wells, what's amiss?" I asked, concerned. My brow furrowed as I studied his hidden expression.

He looked at me for a moment before saying, "Not a thing, Miss Cornelia. All is well."

Mister Wells' distress continued to elude me all afternoon. Carlisle and I had plans to meet that evening, when he was finished with his work at the clinic. Being a Saturday, I had nothing to spend my time doing. I lounged in the dining room with Martha, discussing if the baby would be male or female, and what respective names it would bear.

Soon, there was a break in the torrential downpour of rain, so I excused myself for a walk. The air outside was warm, unseasonably warm, and humid. The loose soil of the road sunk under my feet. I was walking back from the church when I was accosted by the good Misses Whittier, who had just exited the General Store.

"Oh, _Cornelia_! You heard about Martha, didn't you? Of course you did, yes, of course. Isn't it splendid? Sweet Martha will make a _wonderful_ mother, I suspect." If there was one thing Misses Whittier excelled in, it was gossiping. I often wished that Doctor Whittier didn't converse with his wife about his patients so frequently.

After Misses Whittier bid me a good day, I spotted something in the window of Mister Stockton's shop that I hadn't noticed before. The poster was written in his crude script, with the bold side of a quill: **March 21st Spring Festival; Begins at sundown; All are welcome; Hosted by Stockton's General Store.**

"Mister Stockton!" I called, closing the door behind myself. The shop appeared empty, but I sensed him shuffling around in the supply closet behind the counter. "Mister Stockton?"

"Cornelia - good. Please help me with this," he said, his voice muffled by the half-closed door.

I opened it fully and pocked my head inside. He was trying to be a hero and lift a sack of potatoes from the top shelf. I pushed the small stepladder closer to the shelf and stood on it to help him lower the sack. "Mister Stockton, I'm here about-"

He grunted as he carried the potatoes out of the closet, and set them on a clear space on the counter. "Yes, Cornelia, your order still isn't in yet; you'll have to come back next week... like I said yesterday."

"No, sir, I'm not worried about that-" I blushed, remembering I'd ordered a new dress from our supplier outlet back in the east "-I was wondering about the sign in the door... the one about-" I stopped when he let out a jolly laugh.

"Marvelous, isn't it? I put it up after you left on Friday; I wanted to surprise you. A way to celebrate the new crop season, _and_ to gain reputation for the shop!" He laughed deviously as he cut the cloth sack open with the blunt end of a package knife.

I smiled uneasily. "I-It's on Monday, isn't it?"

Mister Stockton shot me a suspicious glance as I ducked back under the counter. He could always spot my moods. "That is the first day of spring, little lady."

"Er, that's right-" I smoothed the front of my dress "-and... two days away..."

"Don't worry, Cornelia," he said in understanding. "I know it's a little short-notice, but I'm sure that someone good and kind will escort you." He winked, and smiled when I stomped my heel on the wooden floor.

"I beg your pardon, Mister Stockton! That isn't at all what I was worried about! I was... I was just..."

"I know, I know. Now _leave_ before I give you that Monday off, young lady." His eyes were playfully severe.

He made me smile, and I seemed to forget my sudden nerves for a moment. "If you insist, Mister Stockton."

I was half-way to the door when a thought occurred to me.

Over my shoulder, "You aren't going with anyone, Mister Stockton?" I asked with fake-innocence. Though Mister Stockton had no family in Hoquiam, he was on first name basis with many young, single women there. Any lady who could catch the eye of the sincere, successful shop-owner was a lucky bride.

I heard his smile through his words. "The host cannot escort a guest to the dance, now can he?"

"' _Festival_ ,'" I corrected, smiling. "Good day, Mister Stockton."

"G'day, Miss."

I spent the rest of the day worrying about the coming festivities. I had only one formal dress, which was pale pink with white ruffles. A forced buy; Millicent's ranting about the sheer material complimenting my complexion was frenzying. Martha was surprised about the news of the festival (as I'm sure most of Hoquiam would be went they walked by the General Store), and began complaining about forcing Shamus into a nice suit.

I sat and watched the rain against the windowpanes until it was dinnertime. "I should go, Martha. I promised to meet my uncle at half past five."

"Oh. But, don't you want dinner first?" she asked, looking up from the pot of soup she was stirring.

"No. Thank you, though. I'll see you tonight, Martha." I waved as I closed the door, stepping out into the misty evening air. _I wonder why Carlisle told me not to have supper... he must be planning something._

The walk to the doctor's office was wet and dirty. Mud splattered on the toes of my shoes, and my face was damp with the heavy moisture hanging in the air. The lack of wind could've been a good or bad sign; the rain may stay for a while longer, or the clouds have drained themselves already. I began to feel self-conscious about my appearance as I stepped into the warm atmosphere of the clinic. _Left over from today's stress about Monday, no doubt._

"Is there anything else, Doctor Whittier?"

"No, Carlisle. Be sure to post that before morning and everything should be taken care of."

"Yes, sir. Have a good evening."

"Until the morning, Carlisle."

Carlisle smiled when he found me waiting for him by the door. "Is it half past already?" he asked lightly.

I drew the pocket watch from my skirts and glanced down at the clock face. "Quarter 'til, dear uncle. _You_ are overdue for our engagement." I smiled teasingly.

"My profoundest apologies, Miss Cornelia," he said, bowing formally. "Would you excuse my unpunctuality?" He offered a hand, smiling.

I sniffed and brushed his hand aside. "Depending upon how long you intend to keep me in such suspense as to the nature of this meeting. I am very hungry."

His smile wavered, and he quickly glanced down at my feet. "Do you intend to wear those?"

I looked at my feet, this time truly insulted. "Are they unfit?"

His expression grew humorous once again as he took my elbow and guided to toward the door. "To an extreme, my dear. You must change them into something more suitable."

Carlisle waited in the dining room in The Featherbed as I dashed upstairs to change. I suspected that his implication had been for something more weathered, or durable. My thoughts wandered to supposed scenarios in which my thin-soled strap shoes would be inappropriate. So much so that I didn't hear one bit of the conversation taking place on the first level.

I descended to stairs in my ankle-length boots, with a heavier shawl around my shoulders. I was just in time to see Carlisle shake Mister Wells' hand, and glance suspiciously at me.

"Is there trouble?" I asked cautiously, walking over to them.

Mister Wells laughed nervously. "O-Of course not. Enjoy your night, Doctor Cullen. Cornelia." He nodded to me and walked away.

I took Carlisle's offered arm and followed him out the door. "What did Mister Wells want with you?" I asked quietly, once the door closed behind us.

The sky was darker than need be, due to the thick cloud cover. "Caleb requested something." A slight crease formed between his eyebrows as I looked up at him.

"As a friend, or as a patient?" I never prodded for his patent's worries like Misses Whittier did, but when it came to Mister Wells...

"As... a suitor for my niece." He looked down at me, and he smiled slowly when realization dawned on my face.

"Mister Wells...?"

"Would like to escort you to the festival on the twenty-first," he finished, watching my expression.

My footsteps slowed. "Well... what did you say, Carlisle?" I demanded.

He chuckled softly at my alarm. "I said that you would be delighted if he asked you personally," he said gently. "I would like to leave the final decision to you, though I strongly advise that you accept."

I was affronted. " _You_ strongly advise me? As a doctor or as an uncle?"

"As a _friend,_ " he emphasized. "Caleb is a fine man."

"Yes, yes, a fine man to be sure. But...!"

"He is fond of you, Cornelia. Please tell me you've noticed all these months." His tone was borderline taunting.

_All these_ months _?_ "I-I... Of course I..."

"My only behest is that you consider it, Cornelia. As a friend, I ask you."

"Carlisle," I stopped him, and I noticed we were almost to the stables. "He is _human,_ " I hissed.

Carlisle was surprised. "Why, of course. The problem is...?"

I sighed. Whenever such complications arose between species, Carlisle ignored them. _He thinks of our races too closely together._ "Easy for _you_ to accept, perhaps."

"Yes, perhaps," he said indignantly.

After Carlisle saddled his two chestnut stallions, he helped me onto my usual one and we set off out of town.

*~*~*~*

"Will you tell me _now_?" I asked, leading my horse into the closest stall. Carlisle had paid Mister Stockton a reasonable sum to construct a small stable on his property that January.

He closed the door and lowered the block to shut it up for the night. "Have you not guessed already?"

I shook my head at both his question and the dew that had settled on my hair. "A hike to the mountain country?"

Carlisle gestured for me to follow him towards the house. "Close, but wrong again." He smirked. "You _did_ mention that you were hungry."

We spent the rest of the evening and much of the night hunting in the forest around the house. And for some reason, thoughts of the spring festival never passed through my mind...

 


	10. First Day of Spring - Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part one of two - Cornelia struggles to enjoy the spring festival with Caleb.

**Chapter 10: First Day of Spring - Part One**

_March 19, 1814, just before midnight_

_Hoquiam, Oregon Country_

_"I know that you carry a dagger with you to hunt... but is there a reason for it being silver?" Carlisle shot me a playful glance as we prowled through the underbrush._

_I clutched my sliver dagger in my hand and scowled. "No," I snapped._

_"I suppose the shape of your earrings tonight is simply by coincidence as well..."_

_I fingered the polished surfaces of my cross-shaped earrings. "It was a gift from Misses Whittier, Carlisle. You of all people should know how Protestant the Doctor is."_

_He chuckled quietly, holding a branch up for me to walk under. "Of course, how silly of me."_

" _And who are you to speak such nonsense, when your father's cross hangs above your fireplace?" I taunted shamelessly, smiling._

 _His smile faltered. "A good effort, Cornelia. However, it so happens that_ you _are the true vampire slayer present."_

_I frowned, hearing the deeper meaning. I was used to his teasing, but I wondered why he was especially animated that night. "Do you think of your past often, Carlisle?" I asked quietly, in all seriousness._

_He understood my disposition immediately. "Yes," he said. "But not so frequently as of late. I have too many preoccupations in the present for such thoughts."_

*~*~*~*

I awoke naturally, as though my dream had thought it best to end there. The relived memory left me to thoughts of the past evening. _How very strange... I don't dream such recent memories often._ I stretched stiffly; I hadn't slept very long after I left Carlisle's, and hadn't slept for the several past days. Then, I remembered the _exact_ day. _Mon... day...?_

I sat up immediately, and reached for the pocket watch that hung from my bedpost. The time was twenty past seven. I was already late for work at Mister Stockton's.

I tore off my night-things and threw my light brown work dress over my head, securing the tie for my white apron around my waist. I didn't bother fixing my hair up, so I quickly tugged the tangles out with a horsehair brush.

"Goodbye, Martin!" I called to the man behind the counter, grabbing a roll from an abandoned breakfast table as I went past. Martha had taken ill the past evening, so Martin - the night watch - was temporarily taking her shift. I was almost glad that I didn't have time to sample his crude vegetable soup. The two guests having breakfast stared at me strangely, as I ran out the door.

"Sorry I'm late, Mister Stockton. I overslept." I straightened the shoulders of my apron as I walked up to the counter.

Mister Stockton was scribbling out an order on a piece of paper. "Hu? Seven o' clock already? My, my..."

I tried not to be irritated with his un-businesslike manner, and began straightening the items on the east-wall shelf. "I'll stay longer this afternoon, to make amends for it."

"Alright, then. You can help me close up early; I want to have some spare time to organize things outside."

I'd noticed the large space set aside in front of the post office for the festival. Since the ground was wet from the near-constant rain, a temporary platform had been set up for the guests. The sky was covered with clouds, but the _Poor Richard's_ forecast said that the end of March would be mild that year.

I started clearing away the random items that cluttered the service counter, as Mister Stockton bent down to file away the order in the post-box. When he stood back up, he was smiling at me mischievously.

I nervously unwound some string from a ball of yarn, just to wind it up again. "Is there something I can help you with, Mister Stockton?" I asked formally.

He continued smiling, and went about collecting some scattered papers and straightening them. "Have you spoken with Caleb recently?"

I instantly knew what he was talking about. "Um... the day before last." I recalled how Mister Wells had most carefully avoided me the previous day. I had viewed our relationship as comfortable and platonic before Carlisle had told me about his interest in me. _I guess that Mister Wells has changed his mind after all... maybe I'll ask Carlisle to accompany me tonight._

"Oh, I see... that must be the reason, then." His eyes darted toward the front windows.

"The reason for what?" I followed his gaze; nothing was there.

He raised his eyebrows and turned away. "I'm sure you'll find out eventually..."

I spent the whole of the afternoon nervously glancing out the front windows. The day lagged, and few customers came and went. I remembered that I had tutoring lessons with Eleanor Wilson when her mother, Mary Wilson, came to pick up her package of stationary she'd ordered. Mister James Wilson was the town's carpenter who worked a private business from his home.

"Yes, Misses Wilson. I'll be by at two o' clock for Miss Eleanor's sewing lesson."

Mary Wilson was a conceited, self-centered woman who was born in New York. Her cold blue eyes narrowed at me, and her haughty atmosphere made me shuffle my feet. "Very well, Cornelia. Remember, we agreed to payment _once_ every Friday."

I bowed my head. "Of course, ma'am, until then."

It wasn't until half past eleven that one Caleb Wells cautiously crossed the threshold of the shop. I became very focused on sweeping the floor when he came in, and turned away as though I hadn't noticed his entry.

I heard his footsteps stop at the counter. "Good afternoon, John."

"How do you do, Caleb?"

"I fare well. And you?"

"When the weather's fine, I'm fine."

They continued to exchange small talk for the next several minutes, during which the floor became cleaner than it had been in weeks. I passed behind Mister Wells and bowed under the counter to replace the broom in the storage closet.

"Hello, Mister Wells," I greeted.

"Greetings, Cornelia. Are you well today?"

"Very well, sir. Thank you."

I ignored Mister Stockton's meaningful gaze as I passed. I found that the dustbin in the closet was full, so I stepped out the backdoor to empty it. When I returned, the atmosphere in the shop had changed; I'd missed something big.

"Cornelia, may I speak with you?" Mister Wells requested, motioning for the door.

"Of course." I nodded, and followed him out into the moist afternoon. The sky was clearing, but the air was still heavy with rain.

When Mister Wells turned to me, his face was hard with an emotion I couldn't identify. His heart pounded in his chest, and his obvious nerves made me slightly uneasy myself. "Forgive me; I know this is unexpected. Your uncle has given me his consent already, but he preferred me to speak with you." His words were rushed.

"About what, Mister Wells?" I feigned casual innocence, hopping to alleviate his tension. I folded my hands patently; I'd never known Mister Wells to be so anxious before.

He took a deep breath through his nose. "May I escort you to the festival tonight?"

I couldn't help but smile at the concerned earnestness on his face. "Of course, Mister Wells, I would be flattered."

The strain drained from his face, and was replaced by content relief. "I'm very pleased, Cornelia." He offered a hand, and placed a soft kiss on my knuckles when I accepted it. I had to suppress a shiver at the warmth of his lips. "I shall see you this evening."

*~*~*~*

After Eleanor's lesson, I returned to The Featherbed. Martha invited me to her flat above the tailor's to prepare ourselves for the festivities. Millicent rejoiced when she saw that I carried the pale pink dress under my arm when I arrived. The three of us crammed into Martha's small bedroom to get ready.

"You're absolutely _certain_ that you feel well?" I asked worriedly, for probably the twentieth time.

Martha scoffed, and checked her hairnet in the mirror. She pulled the flower wreath forward, so it would be seen from the front better. "Of _course_ , Cornelia. Last evening was only a spell. Doctor Whittier said that those will come and go..."

"When my sister was with child, the same thing happened to her very often," Misses Weaver said, tapping some powder onto her cheek with a puff.

I still wasn't entirely convinced. I pulled on one of my white, elbow-length gloves and straightened the fingers. "Well... my uncle promised to be there. It's a good thing, too, just in case anything -"

"Stop worrying about me, and worry about yourself for once! Look at your hair!" She stood and grabbed my shoulders, whirling me around to sit in her vanity seat.

My reflection had half of her hair up in an intricate braid, and the other half over her shoulder. I raised my ungloved hand and giggled at the amusing sight. Millicent stepped into the reflection and scowled as Martha fought a smile.

"Perhaps this is how women in Paris wear their hair now," I said sarcastically.

However, when it came to style, Millicent was an unstoppable force. "Don't be silly, Cornelia. Let me finish for you while Martha _gets her dress in order._ " She shot the last part at Martha. If it weren't for Millicent, Martha and I would be blind to all fashion.

"Yes, ma'am." Martha mock-saluted, hurrying over to the blue dress laid out on the bed.

I winced when Millicent began pulling the other side of my hair into small braids. I watched her tie them off at the ends, and twist them up into the crest of braids at the back of my head. The pins she secured them with pocked my scalp uncomfortably.

"Cornelia!" Millicent gasped, once she had finished. She stood back to view her work. "You are absolutely stunning!"

I didn't understand the fuss she was making, and I turned my head from side to side, just in case I'd missed something extraordinary. My cheeks flushed as Martha's were, due to the stuffy temperature of the room. The loose, ruffled sleeves of my pink dress came down to meet the top of my white gloves, it left only a strip of pale skin visible. The lacy collar hung low on my neck, showing the top of my thin collarbones. The diamond earrings that Millicent had lent me sparkled in the candlelight, and the bare skin of my neck looked paler than usual. My hazel eyes stood out against my pale complexion, and the small flecks of gold from my hunt with Carlisle highlighted my dilated pupils. Fortunately, the dressed flowed past my ankles, shielding my awkward, black strap shoes from view.

I looked up at Millicent. "Am I?"

She reached to straighten the garland of false, pink tulips that was stuck on top of my cluster of hair. "Yes, dear. You are beautiful."

Millicent's dress was deep emerald (she always wore dark colors), which matched the unique color of her eyes. The only piece of jewelry she wore was a silver locket, which she _always_ wore. It bore a small picture of her deceased husband, Charles Weaver. The two had moved to Hoquiam to escape disapproving families, and had opened the tailor shop together. Millicent now lived by herself in a small house in town, and she rented the upstairs living space above her store to Shamus and Martha Brown. She was a kind old soul, and my life would have been much less brighter without her.

Just an hour before the festival, I returned to the inn with Martha to eat. We sipped light broth while Martin boorishly received the sparse customers, making sure to keep ourselves presentable. Mister Wells arrived home about ten minutes later, and smiled immediately when he saw us.

He walked over and kissed Martha's forehead. "You are stunning, sister."

She giggled into her napkin daintily. "And you, brother! So handsome..."

I, too, was surprised by his appearance. He wore a formal brown, tweed suit and carried a brown bowler hat at his side. His hair was more in order than I'd ever seen it, and his smile was more genuine than gold.

"Cornelia." He stooped into a bow. "Radiant and charming as ever," he complimented, taking in my full appearance when I stood.

I felt heat fill my cheeks as I curtsied. "Thank you," was all I could come up with. "You look dashing."

"Will you accompany me on a stroll before the events begin?" he asked, smiling.

I gave Martha a worried glance, and she shook her head. "Stop _coddling_ me, Cornelia. Shamus will be by for me - have no fear." She laughed at my stubbornness.

"Very well. I shall be delighted," I said to Mister Wells, taking his hand. I was thankful to be wearing gloves; he couldn't feel the chill of my skin through the satin material.

I looked up at the fading, grey sky as we walked slowly down the main street. Our arms were not linked - my fingertips nearly hovered over his forearm - but it felt too close. I focused on the regularity of his breaths and each of our footsteps to distract myself from that fact.

"Cornelia, I must thank you for bearing with me so. I know I haven't made my intentions quite clear to you."

I swallowed my unease and looked up at him. His face was as severe as it had been outside the General Store that afternoon. "There's nothing to worry for, Mister Wells."

"Please, you may call me 'Caleb' if you wish."

"Alright, Mister-er, Caleb." The name sounded strange on my tongue. "Though, to be honest, I was taken very much by surprise when my uncle told me of your intent."

"Forgive me," he said, penitent, "I have been foolish these past months."

 _Again... 'these past months.'_ I pondered my reply for a long moment. "So have I, perhaps. That being, there is nothing to forgive." When I looked back up at him, he was smiling. I returned it.

Just then, a figure rounded the church corner. It was Carlisle, in his usual black suit, carrying his medical bag at his side. His gaze found us, and his course veered to intercept.

"Ah, my uncle," I said, slowing my steps to meet him.

Mister We - Caleb tipped his head when Carlisle reached us. "Doctor Cullen," he greeted.

"Caleb... Cornelia." His eyes pierced mine when he said my name. An emotion hung there that I could not place, and my brow furrowed as I tried to conceive it.

"Will you be attending tonight, Doctor?" Cable asked cordially.

Carlisle's eyes lingered on me as he answered. "I... fear not. I am occupied with my duties at the clinic."

I withheld a sharp comment, and I silently glared. _He promised to come last night! He promised!_ I felt as though I could burn a hole in his head with the heat of my eyes. He met my challenge, and even had the audacity to smile at me.

"Oh, I see." Caleb seemed suspicious. "Have a good evening, then," he said, sensing my discomfort.

"Enjoy your time, Cornelia," Carlisle said warmly, and it sounded like more of a death-threat than a well wish.

"I shall, uncle," I said stiffly, throwing daggers after him with my eyes.

We carried on in our opposite directions swiftly.

"Is there a problem?" Caleb asked in concern, once we were out of "supposed" earshot.

"No," I piped, trying not to let my irritation slip into my words. "I'm just disappointed that my uncle is so busy with his work. Sometimes he makes the mistake of prioritizing it over other things." I hoped that Carlisle heard my implication.

"They say that that's the sign of a good doctor. I've never seen someone as dedicated as Doctor Cullen before."

"Yes, that is true," I agreed crossly. "Dedicated to _humanity_."

 


	11. First Day of Spring - Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of two - Cornelia confronts the ultimate source of her trepidation over the spring festival.

**Chapter 11: First Day of Spring - Part Two**

_March 21, 1814, just after sunset_

_Hoquiam, Oregon Country_

Mister Stockton made an announcement to begin the festival, and a lively trio of violinist struck up a song for dancers. Nearly every person in Hoquiam had showed up for the merriment, and the crowd in front of the post office buzzed with conversation and laughter. Caleb and I mingled through the gathering, chatting with people that stopped us on our way.

Many men clapped Caleb on the shoulder when they looked at me, and many women brushed my cheek when they looked at Caleb. Behind our backs, I heard people whisper things such as "About time!" and "What an excellent match!"

"Would you like to dance?" Caleb asked, after nearly half an hour.

I looked from the crowd of dancers to the crowd of non-dancers. Martha and Shamus two-stepped when they should have waltzed, and Martha giggled when they bumped into other couples. Mister Stockton pestered Misses Weaver to dance, and the Whittiers graced the floor with their elegant style. The Wilsons hung by the edge of the group, swaying while their daughter looked on in delight. The tavern-keeper danced with his quiet, second wife, and young Nathan Cummings wooed all the young ladies present.

My eyes memorized each of their movements.

"I have never danced," I informed my companion, smiling coyly.

"Have no fear; I have danced little, with no genuine success thus far." His blue eyes twinkled with excitement, and I had no choice but to accept.

I put on my best smile as we entered the flow of dancers. My good humor turned polluted when Carlisle broke his word. The very reason I'd accepted Caleb's invitation was because Carlisle had promised to attend. Though I enjoyed his company, being so close to Caleb put me in a very uncomfortable position. I had relied on Carlisle's presence to sustain me through the evening.

Caleb put his hand lightly on my waist, and held my left hand gently with the other. He was much taller than I was, so I rested my hand on his arm rather than his shoulder. He slowly took the lead, and I followed confidently.

"I thought you said that you hadn't danced before?" He laughed, pleased with my form.

I glanced around at the other guests. "It's easy to take up once you've seen it, I suspect."

The pace of the waltz was too lively for conversation, so I did my best to forge a cheerful expression.

*~*~*~*

"Did you enjoy your evening with Caleb, Cornelia?" Misses Weaver asked, sipping her tea.

I leaned back in my seat, and gazed out the dark windows of Misses Weaver's home. Martha had retired from the late hour, and Caleb had already bidden me goodnight. Millicent and I were reviewing the events of the evening over a soothing cup of tea. The rain had cut the festivities short after two hours, but it had been a success for Mister Stockton nonetheless.

My eyes watched the raindrops on the window as I responded, "Yes, I did." I took a sip from my teacup.

"Pardon me, Cornelia, but... did he say something to upset you? You seem distraught somehow...," she mused, holding her chin as she observed me.

I forced a quick smile, but Misses Weaver saw right through it. She gave me a heavy look, and I sighed. "I'm not upset by what he said... I am only... surprised."

"What did he say?" she asked gently.

I leaned forward on my elbows and hid my face in my hands. "He's asked to court me."

Misses Weaver gasped, and then began to laugh. "I knew you were meant for each other. What has your uncle said? Will you accept his courtship?"

I knew I could tell Millicent anything; she wasn't a rumormonger. Nevertheless, I felt my heart slip when I thought about Caleb's offer. He was kind and chivalrous, and would make a fine husband for any woman... but I wasn't just "any woman." I was something _else_ entirely.

"I have not spoken with my uncle," I finally said. "I do plan to, before putting any more thought into the matter."

She laughed at my formal manner. "Picture it, my dear! Caleb would make you very happy."

"Yes," I said impassively. "Very happy..."

I bid Misses Weaver a good evening and borrowed an umbrella for the weather. Lightning struck in the distance as I passed the church, and my mind wondered to the past. _I met Carlisle on a night much like this._ I looked down the street, half-expecting to find a dark form walking toward me on the opposite side.

I lit the hearth in my room when I arrived, and took off my damp garments in order to let them dry. Caleb's human scent lingered on my dress, and I frowned at the memory, gazing at the gentle licks of fire in the hearth.

" _Your uncle has given me his consent already, but he preferred me to speak with you."_

" _May I escort you to the festival tonight?"_

" _Cornelia... Radiant and charming as ever."_

" _...I know I haven't made my intentions quite clear to you."_

" _I have been foolish these past months."_

" _...I've never seen someone as dedicated as Doctor Cullen before."_

I pulled on my boots before I spared the matter further thought, and laced them quickly in the light of the fire. I threw on my green dress from the past autumn, and secured my brown cloak around my shoulders. As always, I gently opened the window above my bed and jumped out into the rain. I didn't bother taking my hair down from its elegant arrangement.

The run was wet and cold; my clothes were saturated by the time I left town, and I was shivering when I entered the forest. My sharp sight helped me avoid obstacles such as trees and bushes in the dark woods. I rubbed the rain from my eyes when it clouded my vision.

I banged my fist on the oak door when I arrived, but he didn't answer quick enough. The doorknob compressed under my grip, and the lock shattered when I turned. I flung the door open and stepped inside, dripping all the way.

"Carlisle!" I shouted, stomping into the parlor.

Everything was dark; the room was empty. When I went to expand my search to the second level, I found him frozen at the top of the stairs.

"Cornelia," he greeted soullessly. "Is there trouble?"

"No," I said through my teeth, gripping the slippery wood of the handrail with my wet hand. I pulled myself onto the red carpet of the first step and glared up at him. "Why would there be trouble?" I insisted sardonically.

He blinked, and took two steps down. "May I be of any help?" he asked.

My temper flared. "You _could_ have helped me earlier, but the time is now past."

"To what are you referring?" His gaze matched his tone: detached.

My voice wavered with my impatience. "Do not tease me, Carlisle. You _know_ why I've come."

He descended the rest of the staircase slowly, until he was on the ground floor. Still standing on the first step, he and I were eye-level. "I'm sorry for deserting you, Cornelia. It was for the best."

My grasp splintered the handrail. "You are not forgiven. I must know the reason."

His jaw set, and his eyes were cold. "You will accept none of my excuses," he said.

"Try me," I challenged firmly.

"My self-restraint wasn't strong enough for the amount of humans congregating," he replied smoothly.

"Wrong," I hissed. "Your self-restraint would have been strong enough had they all sliced their wrists under your nose! Anything else?"

His patience thinned. "Why are you so severely upset over the matter, may I ask?"

"Because..." My words failed me. "Because..."

He continued to stare vacantly.

"Because I..." Tears pricked at the corner of my eyes. "I _cannot_ love a human!" I thundered; my eyes were wide with rage.

His emotionless eyes flickered with compassion for half a moment. And in that moment, I saw the intense conflict that raged behind his composure. "Then, do not," he said simply, and his voice was carefully controlled.

"Please, I beg you; at least bring yourself to _care_. I thought our relationship was made of sterner stuff than this!" I motioned between us, referring to the indifference that loomed.

"Certainly, the trouble must be that I care too much," he said grimly.

His words confused me, and I gleaned little or no comfort from them. "I do not understand you, Carlisle Cullen. Perhaps I never will." I turned away from his empty gaze.

I didn't spare myself the trouble of pulling my hood up as I stormed out into the tempestuous night. I pushed myself hard against the cold wind, fighting the despair and loneliness building in my chest. Tired from lack of sleep and the events of the evening, I fell into a shallow sleep.

*~*~*~*

_"Oh, Carlisle... I believe I'm becoming too dependent on you," I said, stroking the soft material of the petticoat he'd given me._

_He smiled, an amused glint in his eye. "How can such a thing be when I've supported you so little?"_

_"I don't know...," I mused, pulling my arm through one of the sleeves. "Perhaps I never will..."_

 


End file.
